


I'll come back to haunt you if I drown

by gealach



Series: We shall burn [2]
Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Wolverine (Comics), Wolverine and the X-Men (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward bonding, But we all knew that, Character Study, Daken is not a prop, Daken overthinks everything, Evan is not convinced, Gen, Genital Torture, Jean Grey School, Johnny Storm makes an appearance, Logan is an idiot, Mention of Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quentin is really mature, Romulus is a sick bastard, Self-Harm, Swearing, Temporary Amnesia, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, lots of talking, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 84,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealach/pseuds/gealach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When fate delivers an amnesiac Daken to the Jean Grey School, Logan assumes this is a second chance: he will do it right this time, he will build a relationship with his son. But if he thinks he'll have a blank slate to write upon, he's going to be sorely disappointed.<br/>The boy is polite, yet cold and distant, sensing something terrible behind the eagerness of this man he doesn't trust at all. He  understands that fateful night defined his future self's life, and feels an affinity for the man he's going to be.<br/>Will the truth come out? And yet, what truth? Father and son will learn a few things along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I began to think about this story after Daken's death in _Uncanny X-Force_ , unhappy with how OOC Daken had been written.  
> This story deals with the aftermath of that, and tries to explore Daken's relationship with his father figures, other than his OOCness in _Uncanny X-Force_. It disregards completely the current arc of _Uncanny Avengers_ , but since _that_ seems to be bound to be a crazy AU, this shouldn't be a problem.  
>  I can't promise I will update on a constant basis, but I _do_ assure you that the basic plot points are outlined and the story will be eventually completed.  
>  This first chapter is a sort of "Prologue" and written differently than the others.
> 
>  **English isn't my first language** ; I hope you'll forgive my mistakes.
> 
> Title and all epigraphs come from the amazing songs of the talented Emilie Autumn.

 

1.

“I will swallow,

if it will help my sea level go down.

But I'll come back to haunt you if I drown.”

Emilie Autumn, _Swallow_

 

 

Everything was darkness and pain. It was silence and pain.

 

_Painpainpainpainpainpainpain –_

 

The boy screamed. He was alive, was he dead? He screamed, then slept (or died?) –

 

– then screamed again.

Had ever existed something else? Something other than darkness?

(he had been a boy. Was he a boy? Or a _mongrel_. He did remember being a mongrel.)

They called him a mongrel –

The boy screamed, then died.

 

Or fell asleep. He didn't know. Why was it dark?

He remembered the light. There was something else, out there.

Something... lurking...

It had seen him. The darkness didn't love him. The darkness had seen him, the darkness knew his name.

_It wasn't my real name!_

The darkness knew what he had done.

_Who... is someone watching? Wh-who are you?_

He wanted his father.

But he didn't want you:

– abandoned you killed himself raised you tried so hard but failed you killed you.

Your father doesn't want you.

Your father doesn't love you.

He does! He –

 _I..._ cannot _. I am weak –_

 _You mean... I didn't_ love _you. Like a_ son _–_

I am your goddamned father! _An' I got_ love _for you. But you got it all_ wrong _–_

 

He couldn't _breathe_ –

 

He woke up. Had he died?

I killed her.

I killed –

– she wasn't my mother.

_Is someone watching?_

He had killed her.

_It was an accident._

Accidents happen.

Like with your brother.

_It wasn't an accident._

_(he wasn't my brother)_

And that boy, too. He called you mongrel –

_I'm not a mongrel!_

A demon, then. _Your mother was right. A_ demon _who brought a curse upon our house –_

The boy screamed.

 

– he jerked awake.

Where am I?

Am I –

dying. Sleeping.

I don't know.

Was he even a boy?

Why couldn't he breathe?

Less and less and less and less and –

his lungs, they were _burning_ –

 

Awake.

He didn't remember. Was he alive?

Was this a dream?

_Kill me._

_I..._ cannot _. I am_ –

 

– _weak._

He screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and –

 

– screamed, and –

 

– screamed, and –

 

– screamed, and –

 

Light.

There was light above him. Faces all around him.

 _Hurt_.

He could _breathe_ –

he coughed.

There were men around him. One made him sit.

 _Hurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurt_ –

Was this a _tomb?_ Was he dead then?

I'm alive.

Where am I?

I want –

They made him stand up. He stumbled, caught himself, raised his eyes.

There was a headstone. So, was he dead then?

In the headstone, there was a name. Was it his name? You had to remember your name. He could go to his father, and everything would be –

he's dead –

and his name had never been his name but he didn't want the other name –

but his name –

on the headstone –

was _mongrel_.

 

The boy screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Build him anew. _Yes, I can do that._


	2. Chapter 2

 

2.

“So let the record show

that you murdered me

in your coldest blood

with your own two hands.”

Emilie Autumn – _Let the record show_

 

 

_Seven weeks later:_

 

 “So, what's up with the sudden meeting?” Logan said, shouldering into the staff room, his hands full of books. “I'm the one who's supposed to call meetings. Also, believe it or not, I was actually doing some research for the... uh...” he came to a halt when he got no response and raised his eyes from the books, noticing, perhaps for the first time, the deadly silence. The room was almost packed full: he saw Hank waving from his post, in front of the monitor.

“Here, Logan.”

Logan set the books on the table, eyeing suspiciously Betsy, who met his stare with a clouded expression.

“Ok, what's up?”

“We've got a call from Cap”, interjected Rachel.

“Here, I'll put him online. Logan...” Hank was polishing his glasses. “You should sit down, I think.”

“Ok, really, what's up?” said Logan, but sat. He glanced around: Ororo sat with her arms folded, squared shoulders; she seemed angry. LeBeau seemed very busy looking at his fingernails, while Bobby looked downright concerned.

“Ummmm...”

“Logan.” Cap's voice. Logan spun around at the monitor, where he saw Cap's concerned face.

“What's up, Rogers? I take it this' serious?”

“It's not an emergency. Look, there has been a situation.”

“A situation?” Logan glanced around again, “You told them already, right?” He was actually preoccupied with the deadly silence. “Can't you be clear about it?”

“Logan, it's about your son.”

Logan stopped listening. Daken? But Daken was dead, dead and buried.

 _Yes, I killed him myself. I_ killed _him.Drowned him in a muddy, disgusting pool._

_Oh, God._

So, evidently he wasn't dead. Did he feel _relief_ at that? He didn't even know.

 _It doesn't change what I did. I_ killed _him, I didn't even_ try _to find another solution._

That explained Betsy's expression.

“... Logan?”

“I'm listening, Rogers. A situation with my son? What 'as he done?”

“He...” Rogers almost seemed pained. “Listen, let me go over it again. There was a situation in Japan, we managed to get through thanks to a source. There was a slaughter in a warehouse, a place wherein a local gang had their quarters...”

“A slaughter? Did Daken...”

“Let me finish. There was a meeting between two gangs, according to our source. It was to be a transaction, but something went awry. Logan... They were selling _Daken_.”

Logan stood, dumbfounded.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“According to our source, he had been fighting for the gang for... ah... a month and a half? A... a betting house, with Daken fighting against dogs.”

“Dogs? But...”. It didn't make _sense_. Why would Daken do something like that? Maybe he was after some local boss?

“We have videos: they had a camera. I would prefer not to show you... it's brutal.” Rogers looked sick, alright.

“Why was he working with them? Slaughtering dogs and the like? You said there was a _slaughter_ at the warehouse? Did he have a target?”

“My God. Logan, I don't think he's... Sit down.” Rogers exhaled slowly, as to prepare himself.

 _You don't think he's_ what _?_

“Ok, ok.” he complied, “Rogers, come on, get on with it.”

Rogers closed his eyes, seemed to think it through. Logan used the opportunity to glance quickly around the room. He didn't like the pained expressions, the glances between each other.

“What's _happening_?” he exploded, exasperated.

“All right.” said Rogers, “Daken was chained. _Let me finish_ ”, he added, seeing that Logan was about to talk. “He was chained, and he's not in a good shape. We have the video... apparently he was to be sold to the other gang. Money was exchanged, and as soon as they unchained him, he...” he looked a little green, “He _disposed_ of the men in the warehouse. It was like watching you when you go feral, he murdered them all brutally. The men he was to be sold to, but also the men who were selling him. Then he threw up and huddled himself in a corner till we came in.”

Logan sat there, struck speechless. He didn't seem to be able to process what had been said.

“Logan? He's fine. For now.” Cap added ominously. “That's where you come in, actually.”

“Threw up?” Logan finally managed to say, “Huddled 'imself in a corner? Rogers, what...”

 _What's happened to him_ went unsaid.

Daken didn't _throw up_. As far as he knew him, he killed efficiently and without a fuss. And he didn't go feral, either. He held himself as too sofisticated for that. For him to go feral and go on a murder spree, for him to subject himself to a month and a half chained...

_Has he subjected himself to it? Or..._

“Rogers, show me the video.”

“I don't think that's...”

“ _Steve._ ”

Cap sighed softly. He nodded toward someone out of the camera, then said: “Alright, sending it now.”

The monitor flickered, then showed a security video. It showed a number of people gathered around a table, apparently waiting for something. Some seconds through the video, a door opened and in went a second group. In the back was a man, handcuffed and led by another. The handcuffed man was covered in rags and blood, his face clouded by a mane and a long beard.

“Where's Daken?”, asked Logan, at the same time realising with dread that the handcuffed man was probably him, wasn't that what Rogers had said? “Rogers, is that my _son_...?” his voice broke. He didn't even realise he was standing till he felt a hand on his arm.

“Logan, sit down.”, said Rachel.

“Are you kidding me, have you seen this already?” Logan asked, shoving away her hand. He didn't look away from the video, where the men seemed to be talking.

“No, we didn't. Logan, you need to...”

“Why there's no audio? I need to hear what they're saying. Where's the _fucking_ audio?”

“Logan!” Ororo's voice, “Please, sit down.”

“You've got to be fucking _kidding._ Oh, God.”

He didn't sit; he stopped breathing when they uncuffed Daken. His son just stood there, motionless. He seemed to be staring at his hands: Logan couldn't really tell, since the group was far from the camera.

Suddenly Daken sprung into motion, stabbing the guy closer to him. The men sprung to their feet, some reaching for guns, but too late; Daken was a whirlwind swirling through them, claws unsheathed, a snarl on his bloodied face.

“Jesus _Christ_.” a voice behind Logan. Was it Jono? It didn't really matter now, did it?

“It's exceedingly beautiful.” Warbird, with a longing voice.

They seemed to be talking from a long distance; Logan stayed there, dumbfounded, eyes on the screen. It wasn't at all like his feral moments; yes, Daken wasn't really there, he could see it from his eyes, when he came near enough to the screen to see them; he was gone and angry and primeval. But there was purpose to it, a sense of control which went beyond his senses, which transformed into a deadly, perfect dance something that normally meant _not having_ control. Then Daken suddenly stopped, surrounded by dead bodies, and went on his knees, throwing up. He then, true to Rogers' words, curled up in a corner of the warehouse, and there he stayed, completely motionless.

The monitor flickered, showing Rogers again.

“Where is he?”

“He was there when we arrived. Same position. It took some hours...”

“Where is he _now_ , Steve?”

Cap sighed, “With us. He doesn't speak. He, ah... doesn't seem to understand. I think I heard him mumbling in Japanese? I'm not sure. Logan, I think he has some kind of amnesia.”

“Jesus.” Now he _did_ sit, “Yes, it's happened before. I helped him...”

“How did you cure it?”

“Chuck did it.”

Silence ensued.

“Do you think it's like your amnesia, Logan? Perhaps he faced some trauma?” asked Hank from his corner.

 _Jesus Christ, yes he_ did _. I killed him. I killed my own son._

Logan put his face in his hands, not answering. _God, this is a clusterfuck._

“Look, Logan” said Steve, “I want to bring him to you. To the school.”

Logan looked up, “What?”

“As I've already _said,_ ” interjected Ororo in a stern voice, “This is a _school_ , we have children here, and Daken's unpredictable right know. He usually is, but more so right now. He can't be trusted...”

“We have to take him in, you heard what Cap said!” said Bobby.

Logan looked around. They were preoccupied, yes, but seemed supportive. What hadn't they told him?

“Why do you want to bring 'im here? Thought you might want to put 'im in jail?” he said. He was so _tired_.

“Ordinarily, I would. But...” he hesitated, then sighed and went on, more resolute: “They want us to bring him to a facility. Some general's there. I think they want to recreate Weapon X. I won't allow it, Logan. I swear.”

Logan faced him, this man he had known for years, who was now willing to disobey direct orders for him. Why did he inspire such loyalty in such a righteous man? He didn't deserve it. It was time they knew it, too.

“... I can't.” he exhaled.

Cap's brows furrowed, “Logan, I get you have a... strange relationship with your son, but this is serious. I have reason to believe they're going...”

“I can't, I can't, I can't be _trusted_!” bellowed Logan, “It's probably my fault he's like this, I... I...”

His head fell on his hands. God, what had he _done_?

“I _killed_ him. There's your trauma, Hank. There's your fucking trauma.” His words fell on silence.

“God.” Cap said, “Your own _son_?”

Logan didn't answer.

“ _Jesus_ , Logan. What happened?” Rachel, on his right.

“Why didn't you _tell_ us?”

“What does it matter, what happened? He's killed his own son!” Cap again.

“Cap's right. It doesn't matter, I...”

“Don't you _dare_ judge Logan's actions.” Betsy's words cut through the air like daggers. Logan's head whipped up. She sat across him, her head high. “You weren't there, you don't know why he did it.”

“Did you _know_ this?” Rachel asked incredulously.

“I was there. We did what had to be done.”

“Has this something to do with your assassin squad, Logan?” Cap asked, and gone was the concern from his voice. “I'll pretend not to have heard. Whatever happened, we have a problem now. Your son needs you. Maybe this is your redemption for having killed him. Man up.”

Logan let out an incredulous, breathy laugh. “I can't believe this.”

“Logan...” Rachel put a hand on his arm, “Your son, your call. We'll support you.”

“We'll have to set some boundaries,” added Ororo. But she didn't seem to be completely averse to the situation.

“I can't...”

“We'll help you, _homme_. We can't let them experiment on your son, right?”, LeBeau clasped his shoulder.

“Rachel and I can probably help Daken,” said Betsy, even if she didn't seem exactly happy at the idea of having his son on the school ground. She, of course, had seen what he was capable of.

“I...”

Was Rogers right? Was this a second chance for him, for _them_?

 _We've been through a lot of second chances. Never really changed anything. Daken's so_ stubborn.

But he wasn't stubborn now, was he? Was this a chance to rewrite their relationship from the start? Be a father to him? _I can make it right. I have to. There won't be another chance_.

Images came to him, images of living with his son, teaching him how to be _right_.

Build him anew. _Yes, I can do that_.

“All right, Rogers. Bring him here.”

 

* * *

 

Three hours later he stood in the hangar with Hank and Rachel. They were going to help with the transition from Cap's plane, and then bring Daken to Hank's lab, do some test and interrogate him.

“We don't know if this is a ruse,” Ororo had said, “I get it, you're concerned, but Daken could be doing this just to enter the school."

“He broke into this school before. Believe me, he wouldn't have problems. This is something else. I'm thinking it's because I buried 'im.”

This had led to a series of uncomfortable questions; hadn't he thought about the healing factor when he had buried him? Which, in hindsight, was really a question worth considering. Why the hell hadn't he thought about it? Had he overlooked it because that drug had supposedly burned Daken's healing factor?

He should have stopped and thought about it when he turned up alive. He seemed to have blown up in New York, and yet there he had been, alive and kickin' with the Brotherhood... and Creed.

His blood had started boiling at the thought. _What have I done? Sweet Jesus, what have I done_?

And now, here they were, waiting for Cap to turn up.

They didn't have to wait too much: the plane suddenly came into view, maneuvering to land next to the Blackbird. While the engines still run, Logan found himself walking towards it, but Hank snatched his arm and held him in place.

Rogers stepped out of the plane, saluted, a grim expression fixed on his face, and turned to help a man.

Logan had to remind himself that this was Daken, because nothing in this bloodied, hunched, frightened figure resembled the graceful son he had seen not so long ago. Especially the beard struck as terribly incongruous, but there were other telltale signs: the way he held himself, the hands clutching his rags, big eyes wandering around the hangar.

This wasnt a ruse at all. This was a fucked-up situation as ever there had been one.

Logan stepped up, eager to talk to Daken. He must have made some sound because his son's eyes flickered towards him.

His brows furrowed, as if processing where he had already seen Logan. _Does he recognise me?_ A sudden scent stung his nostrils, making him stumble backwards as if a strong wind had entered the hangar, making him sweat at the same time.

A scream echoed across the hangar, a high-pitched sound which couldn't have possibly come from Daken. It simply couldn't.

Daken stumbled backwards as well, grabbing Rogers and putting himself behind him. Cap struggled, a terrified expression on his face, huge eyes staring comically at Logan. They stayed there for a moment, a frozen tableau.

The scream wavered, but a new sound came alive, a low murmur which went suddenly louder.

“Iie, iie! Iie! Onegaishimasu! Watashi wa yoidarou. Watashi wa yoi koto o yakusoku! Iie, iie!”

 _Does he recognise me?_ , thought again Logan. But this time he couldn't help but feel dread.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “ _You thought I would have been so happy to have you help me, oh, he must hate you so much if you're so wary and hopeful when you talk to me._ ”
> 
>  
> 
> What Daken says:  
> Iie, iie! Iie! Onegaishimasu! Watashi wa yoidarou. Watashi wa yoi koto o yakusoku! Iie, iie!  
>  _No, no! No! Please! I'll be good. I promise I'll be good! No, no!_  
>   
> 
> (Yes, I _did_ quote _Les Misérables_ , I couldn't resist! xD )


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter onwards, dialogues in Japanese will be italicised.

 

3.

“Whether I swim or sink,

that's no concern of yours now;

how could you possibly think

you had the power to know how

to keep me breathing?”

Emilie Autumn – _Opheliac_

 

 

“Iie! Iie!”

In the stunned silence that followed, broken only by Daken's sobbing pleas, Logan found himself facing an impending dilemma:

_What the hell should I do? Should I try to talk to him? Move closer?_

He was confused; this was so different from the last time Daken had had amnesia. That time he had maintained his core personality, been calm and collected. He had freaked out only for a short moment. Now, however, he was pretty clearly terrified, holding on to Steve for his dear life.

He was also unconsciously releasing his pheromones, if the sudden wave of terror Logan felt was anything to go by. It didn't seem that he was using the pheromones to manipulate anyone: instill sheer terror in them wouldn't help him gain anything. They seemed to be reflecting his current state of mind.

 _Terrified because of_ me, Logan thought bitterly.

“He's upset,” said Rachel.

“You don't _say?!_ ” asked Logan, dripping sarcasm. “I don't need a telepath for _that_. Can you read his mind?”

“He's a mess, his mind is a maze of confused thoughts. I can't get through. I wanted to calm him, but I'm having trouble.”

“Logan, what's he saying?”, said Hank.

“'No, please' and variations thereof. I scare him.”

“You _scare_ him?”, repeated Cap with an equal amount of sarcasm, “Do you think he recognises you? Maybe he recollects the moment you killed him,” he spat.

“Great, Rogers, thanks. Just what I needed.”

“I'm just saying...”

“I know what you're saying.”

He took a step towards Cap and Daken, holding his hands up. His son wailed.

“ _Kid. I'm not going to hurt you,_ ” he said in Japanese.

Daken nearly jumped, staring hard at him with big, wary eyes.

 _What's he thinking?_ , thought Logan, but stood there where he was, hoping Hank and Rachel would do the same. _He seems to have mental barriers of some kind_ , came Rachel's voice in his head. _I'm guessing they're instinctive. They remind me of the way your mind worked before. I don't want to force my way through_. Daken's eyes never left Logan, flickering all across his face and figure. At least he didn't seem to want to scream again. _What's he looking for?_ , he thought, still with his hands up.

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Daken spoke with a clear, unwavering voice.

“ _Who are you?_ ”

Logan let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. What, now? Should he start with the truth? If he really wanted to have a new try to a relationship with his son, he had to. The last time he had been too afraid to speak, and as a result Daken had gone away at the first chance, lured by Shaw, perhaps not so sure he could trust Logan.

So, he held himself as he said: “ _I am your father. These are my friends: we're going to help you._ ”

Daken went very still, eyes again on Logan's face, searching for a lie, perhaps. He held a cold, calculating gaze on him for what seemed like centuries, then he said:

“ _I want answers._ ”

“ _Of course_ ,” Logan slowly lowered his hands, “ _You can leave my friend now. You're safe._ ”

“ _He saved me. They – were hurting me_ ,” Daken added quickly.

God, what had been happening in that warehouse? And _Daken_ had saved himself, not Cap. That he had remained in that building for hours, waiting for someone to come, and now held so tightly to Cap spoke volumes to Logan.

“ _I swear no one is going to hurt you here. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you_.”

Daken let go of Cap, but remained behind him, wary. His gaze flickered towards Logan's right, where Hank was.

“ _What is that?_ ”

“ _He's my friend._ Hank, come here. I think he's calmed down.”

When Hank followed Logan's instruction, though, Daken stepped backwards and grabbed Cap again, eyes on the scientist.

“ _He's not human. Is he a demon? Are you? Am I, too?_ ”

 _What_ , thought Logan. A demon? It made sense, since he was probably scared by his own claws. He would see that normal people hadn't them. But why a word so specific? _Akki_ , he had said. It seemed to carry meaning to him. Why not _oni_? Or _youkai_? Or anything else, really. Why a demon? Had those criminals told him so?

“ _He's not, and neither are you. Nor me_.”

“ _What_ , now?” asked Cap with a tired voice.

“He asked if Hank's a demon. He seems to think he is, too.”

“Fascinating,” Hank adjusted his spectacles on his nose, “I think you should explain to him about mutants before he relaxes enough to allow me to touch him.”

He was right and Logan knew it. Daken would have obviously held his ground till he was completely sure nobody was going to harm him in any way. After what he had probably been through in that warehouse, it was pretty normal. Still, exactly because of that, he hadn't expected Daken to make such a fuss; he had thought he would have been meek and trusting.

The man before him was wary and calculating; he had made a mistake in thinking he would have blankly followed him just because he had told him he was his father. Minutes ago he had been terrified of him, and Logan was sure this was because he somehow remembered something.

“ _Listen to me_ ,” he said slowly, “ _No one, here, is a demon. This is a school for people with special powers, like you and me and him. We're humans, but we have something more. You have claws, and you hear and smell exceptionally well_ ,” Daken started, as if he hadn't expected that, “ _And he's blue and very strong. We're humans. You can smell I'm telling the truth_.”

Daken seemed convinced, or at least convinced enough to let go of Cap, who stumbled away.

“He trusts you,” Logan told Steve quietly, sensing a longing in his voice as he spoke. Cap stared back at him, sympathy in his eyes. Logan shook his head, trying to clear it, then extended a hand towards Daken.

“ _Come on, son. Let's get you inside_.”

 

* * *

 

They found Ororo and Betsy in Hank's lab.

When Cap had gone away, Daken had followed him with his eyes for a while before finally turning to Logan and the others.

He had followed them, but abstained from taking Logan's offered hand and navigated away when Logan had tried to clasp his shoulder. He had been silent; God only knew what was happening inside that head of his. Logan had asked Rachel to try again and sneak at Daken's thoughts, but she had said it was better not to antagonize him so soon: she seemed sure he would have noticed.

Daken had spent the entire trip to the lab by staring at his surroundings. He tried to be inconspicuous, but Logan noticed nonetheless; it would have been impossible not to.

When they got to the lab, Daken stopped walking and stared openly, big eyes wandering over Hank's tools.

“Hey,” Logan waved at the two women, “Why are you here?” he added, sitting down and waiting for his son to get his bearings. Hank went to a table and started clearing it, while Rachel stood next to Daken.

Ororo shrugged, “I want to be present. Betsy thought an extra telepath could be useful.”

“I think it's best not to try anything for now, he's very wary,” said Rachel. She and Betsy didn't talk further, probably moving the conversation to their heads.

“Logan...”

“I don't think he's faking it, 'Ro. He had a panic attack in the hangar.”

“I agree with Logan, Ororo,” said Hank.

Ororo sighed and sat, “Are you _sure?_ ”

“That's what we're here for, ain't it?”, Logan said, “ _Daken, come -_ ” he started switching to Japanese, but a snarl from his son stopped him. He froze, noticing Daken angry stare: he was still in place, but his pose was threatening; he held himself as if he was about to unsheath his claws. Was he even aware of that?

“ _Do not insult me!_ ”, he said, low and dangerous. Logan was at a loss for words, looked around him to see the others' shocked faces.

“What...?” started Hank, but Logan shushed him.

“ _It's your name -_ ”

“ _It is_ not _!_ ”, Daken interrupted, “ _You won't insult me, foreigner! Are you even my father?_ ”, he spat.

“ _You know I am. You smell I'm not lying, and you know my smell is similar to yours._ ”

“ _Then don't insult me!_ ”, he repeated.

Of course, Logan had always known his son's name's meaning. He had even wondered about it, hating Romulus for having given him a name that hateful. He just wasn't thinking about it. Of course it would have sounded like an insult to an amnesiac man who only spoke Japanese, who had lived for almost two months in the company of men who had had him fighting against dogs, of all things. He already knew they had called him demon, why not mongrel? What had he been thinking?

What an idiot he was.

“ _I am sorry. Please, come here, let us talk._ ”

Daken stayed where he was.

“ _Why have you called me that?_ ”, he said suddenly, “ _It's not my name, it's_ not,” but he seemed to be talking to himself now, “ _They said it was my name, too. It was on the tomb. I was dead_ ,” he added, quietly, and held Logan's gaze.

Logan nearly flinched. Of course, he had written it on the headstone. What was he supposed to write? A blank headstone would not do.

 _I shouldn't have buried him in the first place. Idiot!_ How _long_ had he lied in the darkness? How long had he been conscious before slipping into madness?

He decided to tell the truth. He wouldn't lose him to lies and subterfuges, he would _not_.

“ _It's the name you use. The name you make yourself known with._ ”

Daken _did_ flinch at that, but seemed to relax slightly. He eyed the table and the surrounding X-Men.

“ _You want me to sit there? It's so clean_ ,” he clutched self-consciously at his rags. “ _I want clean clothes, please. I want to bathe_.”

Of course, how long had he worn those? But it wouldn't do, they had to get over this before letting him wander the school.

“ _I know you do, but you'll have to wait for now. Come, sit. Are you hungry?_ ”

Daken held his ground for a moment, seemed about to say something else, but capitulated, “ _No, I'm not._ ” He went and sat stiffly on a chair, keeping his back straight and his hands on his upper thighs, fingers held close together. Logan eyed the position, then exchanged a glance with Betsy, who raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further.

Hank and Rachel joined them at the table, glancing curiously at Daken.

“What was that about?”, asked Ororo.

“His name means mongrel,” sighed Logan, “Don't call him by that, for now.”

“All right. He's all yours, Logan.” Hank gently prodded.

God, how could he start? Logan glanced around, at their expectant faces. Ororo nodded at him, smiling encouragingly.

“All right, I...” he sighed, then turned to face Daken, “ _I know you have questions. I know you don't remember who you are, and you're scared, and I'll help you. I swear I'll answer your questions truthfully, but I'll have to ask you something before it comes to that. Are you fine with this?_ ”

“ _I suppose I am. I cannot leave, right?_ ” Daken said, sharp and to the point.

“ _You're not a prisoner_ ,” Logan rushed to assure him, “ _But we have to be careful. You... ah..._ ” he stopped, unsure how to say it.

“ _I am a criminal_ ,” Daken said quietly, “ _Those men told me. They said no one would ever come looking for me. And you think..._ ” Daken's gaze shifted towards the assembled X-Men, “ _Your friends think that I am dangerous. You said this is a school, so you're worried I might hurt somebody._ ”

Well. He was certainly sparing him the awkwardness of explaining those things. He seemed acute and attentive, perfectly capable of assessing the situation he was in. So then, the actual question: how had those criminals managed to contain him?

“ _Well, yes_ ,” he managed to say, “Y _ou killed those men._ ”

“ _They were hurting me_ ,” Daken said quickly, echoing his earlier words.

“ _What did they do to you?_ ” said Logan quietly.

Daken shook his head.

“ _I have to know_ ,” Logan reached across the table, trying to meet his son's eyes, “ _Please, son._ ” Daken _shuddered_ at that, and backed away as if he couldn't help it, shoulders hitting the back of the chair. Logan sat again, struck.

“ _They had you fight against dogs_ ,” interjected Betsy, matter-of-factly. Daken started and looked at her.

“ _If you know already, why ask?_ ”

“ _I want to know if they hurt you,_ ” said Logan.

Daken actually _laughed_ at that, a little hysterical puff of air.

“ _I had to kill dogs, of course they hurt me. The dogs and the men._ ”

“ _But what did they do? How did you meet them?_ ”

Daken stared at him, then lowered his head, looking at the back of his own hands. He didn't speak for a long time. Logan decided not to rush him, and used that moment to summarize for the others what had been said up until that moment. When he finished talking, Ororo spoke up.

“We need to know if he's a threat to the children. Ask him about those men, why did he kill them.”

“He killed them because he was their _prisoner_ , 'Ro.”

“He's hiding something,” said Betsy, “We won't force our way through his head, I promise, but even without doing that, I can tell he is. You know that, too.”

Of course he knew that, but what could he do? His son was wary and he had a right to be, given where he had spent the last months. He was alone and amnesiac and he thought he was a _demon_ , for Christ's sake! And now a man came and told him he was his father: Logan would have been confused too, who wouldn't have? He remembered as a blur the months passed after escaping from Weapon X, alone in the wilderness. He had to be gentle to him –

“ _I think I'm crazy_ ,” his son spoke up, startling them, “ _I think I was dead. I was in a tomb. Those men opened the tomb and caught me. They held me in a cage and used_ whips _and_ chains,” he shivered, “ _Then they wanted to sell me to those other men, those men asked me if I could kill for them, kill humans. They were angry and hungry and wanted to use me, they would have hurt me more than the others, they were cruel. I know cruelty_.”

Logan tried not to shudder at the last statement. When he tried to speak, he felt a lump in his throat.

“Logan, let me,” interjected Betsy, _“Did they know you?_ ”

“ _They seemed to. They were happy that I wasn't able to recognise them and kept calling me – that name_.”

“ _This angered you_ ,” said Betsy softly, eyes focused on Daken. She seemed very understanding, but Logan knew wheels were turning in her head, as in his, actually. Some criminal who had known Romulus or Daken, then. They probably couldn't believe to have been so lucky as to have in their clutches an amnesiac killer. Well, now they were dead. He started translating quietly to the others.

“ _You said that's my name, and that's what they had told me, too. It was on the tomb_ ,” Daken shuddered again, “ _Why was I in a tomb? Was I dead? How can I live, then? I am a demon._ ”

“ _You're not_ ,” Betsy assured him, “ _You have regenerative powers, you heal very quickly._ ”

“ _You are saying that I_ was _dead?_ ”

“ _That, or someone you knew thought you were and buried you_ ,” said Betsy, eyes never leaving Daken's, not giving away anything but concern, but Logan tried not to shiver or falter while translating. Daken seemed to be thinking about it, cocking his head to the side.

 _Logan, I don't think it would be a good idea to tell him the truth for now_ , said Betsy in his head.

 _You're right, yes_. What would Daken have done if he had known it had been Logan to bury him? Logan himself had said he was his father, to Daken that would mean he was aware of his healing factor... Daken wouldn't have trusted him, that was a given. Waking up in a tomb, alone and without memories... that would have been a horrible, obscene experience. And then to be captured and forced to kill... all because of _him_ , damn him to hell!

“ _You're hiding something_ ,” said Daken suddenly, “ _He's nervous_ ,” he added, looking at Logan.

“ _You're hiding something_ ,” answered Betsy with a sweet voice, with just a hint of a venomous undertone to it.

Daken's eyes shifted swiftly to her, “ _It's leverage._ ”

“ _Well, then, it's a stalemate. We want to help you, I assure you, but you're dangerous and if we can't be sure you will behave you will stay here. In a cage_ ,” she added. Daken snarled, but didn't move. His eyes narrowed. He knew he was outnumbered.

“What the fuck are you saying, Braddock?” said Logan, calmly enough as not to signal Daken that he was distressed or didn't agree, “I don't like this bluff.”

Betsy explained quickly to the others what she had been saying, and when Hank reacted similar to Logan, she said to both of them, “I'm not bluffing at all. This is a school, first and foremost. Ororo's right, we can't have an amnesiac killer on the ground. And there's something he isn't telling.” Ororo was nodding, even Rachel seemed convinced, even if she looked a little sick about it.

“I won't have him thrown in a cage, Braddock.”

“Of course I'm bluffing with that. We don't even have those. But he doesn't know, does he? If he doesn't talk, he will stay in a nice, comfortable cell.”

“This is _crazy_. You're lunatics, all of you,” Logan stood and paced.

“Great, make him think he has an _ally_ in you,” Betsy rolled her eyes.

“He _has!_ ”

“You didn't seem so concerned when you killed him –”

“Shush!” Logan stared at her, unbelieving and red-faced.

Ororo started, shocked, then: “Betsy,” she uttered softly, “I don't think –”

“How dare you,” growled Logan, “You had my back. You said not four hours ago that no one could judge me. I was devastated when I killed him –”

“You did what you had to! I'm telling you not to have regrets over that, he was dangerous, he was _hurting Evan!_ You had –”

“I shouldn't have buried him, it was obvious he would revive! I fucking abandoned him in that hole –”

“Yamete kudasai!”

Logan and Betsy whipped simultaneously their heads towards Daken; Betsy hadn't even noticed she had stood up.

“What, ah, what has he...?” Hank said, eyeing them warily, as if fearing they could still tear at each other's throats.

“'Stop, please',” translated Betsy in a murmur. Daken was holding his arms almost protectively, as if he wanted to shield himself from them.

“Sore wa watashi no seidesu. Moushiwake arimasen.”

“Of course,” Logan passed a hand over his face, “His pheromones. He's apologizing... I don't think he did it on purpose. You angered him with your talk of cages, Betsy.”

“Are you sure he didn't do it on purpose?” she said, not at all placated.

“I don't think –” his eyes narrowed; Daken was still mumbling in Japanese, almost rocking back and forth.

“What's he saying?”, asked Ororo.

“'She was right'.”

“Who?”

“I... I don't know.” Logan bit his lip. This should end now. Daken seemed so emotionally distressed it was painful to behold. It made such a stark contrast with the man he had learnt to know. With Daken, he was never sure about anything, but he could at least anticipate something. This was a stranger, and at the same time he was his son, and he was hurting.

Logan decided to try at least one last time to shatter his walls. He sat across him, a hand on his heart, the other on the table.

“ _Son_ ,” he said, and Daken stopped rocking, and looked at him, “ _Please trust me. I know you're in pain, I want to help you. Allow me to do it. Please_.”

This didn't elicit the response he had expected at all. Daken half-snorted, half-chocked, an ugly sound of humorless amusement. An angry grimace distorted his features, and he held Logan with contempt, somehow managing to look deadly furious even with all that facial hair covering his mouth.

“ _I should trust you, you say? Why? You take me and hold me and say you want to help me. Should I fall on my knees and thank you, father?_ ” a flash in his eyes when he said that word. Disgust or fear? Logan couldn't tell, as he stared at his son. Should he allow him to continue, get it out of his system? Daken put his hands on the table, leaning towards Logan.

“ _You thought this would have been easy? You thought I would have been so happy to have you help me, oh, he must hate you so much if you're so wary and hopeful when you talk to me. I know I am at a disadvantage here! Why should I give you means to manipulate me further? I don't remember things and you wanted to use that, you're like those men!_ ”

“ _It's not like that –_ ”

“ _I'm not finished! They would have eaten me alive if they had known what an easy target I could be! I'm not stupid, but I can't fake knowledge I don't have! Someone was bound to notice and use me and_ abuse _me! I have to protect myself from the likes of you_ ,” he drew a breath, “ _And yet, you say you want to help me. You're my father and you want to help me and you're the most likely to be able to help. So I should tell you, but I would put myself in your hands. Trust?_ ” he laughed bitterly, “ _Should I trust you? I don't know if I can. Did you rape my mother?_ ”

The question was so sudden and utterly _wrong_ that Logan felt the blood drain from his face.

“ _What?_ ”

“ _Did – you – rape – my – mother?_ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Daken took his hands away from Logan's grip, trembling again, “ _Don't you_ dare _say a word about my father_.”
> 
> What Daken says:  
>  _Sore wa watashi no seidesu. Moushiwake arimasen._  
>  It's my fault. I am sorry.


	4. Chapter 4

 

4.

 

“You tell me everything's all right

as though it's something you've been through.

You think this torment is romantic;

well, it's not, except to you.”

Emilie Autumn - _Swallow_

 

 

Once, Logan had thought there couldn't possibly be something more horrible than knowing your own son thought you to be his mother's murderer. But, oh, how had he been fucking wrong. _This_ was worse: the disgust and anger showing clearly on his son's face, the tips of his claws surfacing from the skin of his hands, the way Daken was trembling slightly, and that horrible, obscene question echoing in his head.

And at the same time, this meant that Daken wasn't as amnesiac as he had thought him to be. He had to be extremely careful now, assess the threat to the children. _He was raised by Romulus_. _What other lies has he told him?_ He trusted the others to be able to pick that information while he tried to calm down Daken. He heard Betsy finish her translation, heard the collective intake of breath.

“ _Son_ ,” he began, but Daken didn't seem to be in the mood for endearments: he snarled, looking him straight into his eyes.

“ _Or maybe_ ,” he mused, “ _Maybe she was a prostitute. I hope she was. At least it would mean she had control over the situation. Bombing us wasn't enough, you had to pick an oriental flower with your foreigner hands?_ ”

The way he said _gaijin_ , the mention of bombs: this spoke of being bred in a japanese environment, that was for sure; he hadn't thought Romulus would have been so consistent. Maybe to ensure Daken's hate?

“ _Listen to me_ ,” he almost choked with sudden tears and wondered whether they were his or Daken's, “ _I don't know what lies –_ ”

“ _Lies!_ ” Daken repeated, “ _No lies, not now. Don't you dare. I told you I wanted answers. Speak the truth, american soldier._ ”

“ _I loved your mother_ ,” he said clearly, “ _We were married. I –_ ”

“ _You expect me to believe that? You must think me stupid –_ ”

“ _I loved your mother!_ ” Logan spoke over Daken, “ _We loved each other. We lived together in a house I had built myself –_ ”

“ _You're lying! Lies, lies, lies!_ ” Daken was shaking by now, tears streaming down his cheeks, a mixture of pheromones saturating the air, “ _You raped her and you went back to your country and you left her alone and pregnant!_ ”

“ _We –_ ”

“ _There's no 'we'! If there had been a 'we', I would have been part of it! But she abandoned me_ ,” Daken gritted his teeth, “ _Therefore, she was alone_ ,” he added quietly.

Logan felt his heart shatter to pieces. This, this he couldn't deal with. He couldn't go over this again, recall Itsu's happiness at being pregnant, the smell of her blood from miles away, the thought that this could have been so different if he just had swallowed his pride and stayed home...

“ _She didn't –_ ”

“ _She did. She was dishonoured and alone. Don't tell me you loved her, that you were with her, because that would mean that I... that I..._ ”

Daken's shoulders hunched, his head lowered. Logan had to keep himself from touching his son, uncertain as to how that would have been received. _That you weren't wanted. You think you weren't wanted._

“ _So you abandoned me then_ ,” Daken's voice came muffled from tears, “ _Why? Wasn't I good enough?_ ” he suddenly, shakily laughed, “ _Of course I'm not. A mongrel. A demon._ ”

_This can't go on_. He hadn't thought possible to hate Romulus more than he already did, but this was far worse than he thought. He wished not to have killed him so swiftly: he deserved a death far worse for having done this to his son. _If only I could come back and raise you, son_. But this, this here, was a chance to let Daken know he was loved, that Romulus had lied to him.

So he reached across the table and took Daken's hands.

“ _Listen to me. We didn't abandon you. Please, let me finish_ ,” he added when Daken stirred, “ _Your mother died. I went through a period similar to the one you are experiencing right now, I forgot everything. I found out about you some years ago –_ ”

“ _My mother is dead?_ ” Daken raised his head.

Logan took a shacky breath, “ _She is. And the man who raised you lied to you, I –_ ”

Daken took his hands away from Logan's grip, trembling again, “ _Don't you_ dare _say a word about my father_.”

Hearing that word referred to Romulus was a shock to Logan, but he tried not to let it show, “ _Hear me out. He lied about me and your mother –_ ”

“ _We never even talked about you! That was in the past. It didn't matter –_ ”

Logan found it very difficult to believe, seeing that this was too good a chance to poison his son against him.

“ _He told you you were abandoned_.”

“ _I was!_ ”

“ _You weren't –_ ”

“S _omeone put me on my parents' doorstep!_ ”

This made Logan freeze.

“ _Everyone in the village knew I was abandoned_ ,” Daken was saying, “ _If you didn't do it, then who did?_ ”

Logan felt like he was about to faint, like he was suddenly unable to breathe. Parents and doorsteps and villages and... _parents?_ What had Romulus done? Had he played the father, paying a woman and an entire group of people just to fake domestic life? How fucked up was that? _This is the man who payed women to try and kill a child_ , he thought bitterly, recalling what Daken had said to him that damnedest day, _Why am I even asking that question?_

“ _I know it's a lot to take in, but your life has been a lie_ ,” he managed to say, trying his best to be calm and reassuring, but feeling he couldn't any longer. Daken was staring at him, disbelief on his face, but Logan knew he had to get through this now, get to him, make him _understand_. He had to shatter Romulus' conditioning if he wanted to have Daken around the children. He wasn't going to abandon him, never again.

“ _I don't know what he said to you, I can't possibly know what your life has been like, but I know that man wasn't your father and certainly didn't act like it. He lied to you for your entire life, for decades, you just a few years ago managed to escape from him._ ” Daken _jerked_ at this, eyes round as plates.

“ _What?_ ” he asked, shocked. Well, he had a right to be! Logan felt a renewed hope spread through him.

“ _I know you feel hopeless. I know you think you are a monster because you were forced to kill as a child. And I am so, so sorry you had to go through that. But I'm here to tell you that it's all right, you are not a demon, I will help you. But you have to understand that the lies Romulus –_ ”

“ _No, no, stop. I don't understand what you are talking about, who is Romulus? Forced to kill?_ ” Daken seemed about to throw up, “ _My father didn't force me to kill anyone, it was an accident –_ ”

“ _Those nannies you killed, he payed them –_ ”

“ _Nannies? What nannies?_ ”

So, Daken was in denial, or didn't want to admit it to Logan. This utter faith in Romulus was disturbing.

“ _The nannies who tried to kill you when you were a child. The ones you had to kill, or else you would die. Romulus sent them, to condition you –_ ” was Daken _laughing?_

He _was_ , little hysterical, disturbing giggles. Logan felt the blood drain from his face.

“ _You don't even know what you are talking about! What is this nonsense?_ ” Daken spread his arms, “ _I never had nannies. I never killed anyone. The one time I did it was an_ accident _!_ ”

“ _Why do you lie? I know. You said it to me yourself. I know for a certainty that Romulus raised you and lied to you about me, making you think I had killed your mother –_ ”

Daken jerked, then crossed his arms. “ _Has it occured to you that maybe he – Daken – lied to you?_ ” he said, matter-of-factly.

Had it ever? No, for sure. Logan had never questioned it; Charles had confirmed it. He knew Romulus had raised Daken.

“ _That's not a chance. So I have to assume you are lying_ ,” he sighed.

“ _But I am not._ ”

And he wasn't, according to his senses. He didn't smell of lie at all. But then, he hadn't when they had talked that day. Logan sighed again, passing a hand over his eyes. Why weren't the others talking?

“ _Look_ ,” Daken started again. “ _I don't know what... Daken... said. It's possible that he went living with that man,_ ” he shuddered, “ _after... that thing. After what I did. The accident. I don't remember anything after the accident._ ”

“ _The accident_ ,” Logan repeated, skeptical.

“ _My father doesn't come into this. He wasn't part of this... this conspiracy you talk about_ ,” well, he certainly seemed sure about it. But he could be faking it. Daken had been very quiet when Chuck had made him discover that Romulus had lied to him, but he had also radiated anger and had wanted to avenge himself. Now that he had discovered it _again_ , sort-of, he could be thinking of escaping and tracking down Romulus himself. This wouldn't do.

“ _Romulus can't hurt you anymore_ ,” he assured Daken, “ _He's dead. I killed him._ ”

Daken almost smiled, a sort of sad grimace.

“ _And that's the proof we aren't talking about the same man. My father is dead. He shot himself in the face, right in front of me_.”

Logan stared at his son. The final syllables of Betsy's translation echoed through the lab, and he heard Ororo let out a strangled noise. Rachel fidgeted on her chair.

That certainly seemed unlikely, and yet Daken seemed so sure about it. But what if this was the truth? That would mean... that would mean that Daken hadn't lived his whole life with Romulus. That _could_ mean that the man who was in front of him right now was free of Romulus' conditioning. But how could he confirm this story?

“ _Are you sure?_ ” he asked softly, “ _Romulus is very good at making people believe what he wants._ ”

Daken shrugged, “ _I saw my father's brain on the grass. There was blood everywhere, and pieces of his skull hit me. I assure you I was very close. It would have been difficult to fake._ ”

How could he be so calm about this? Logan was feeling ill at the thought.

“ _Is this the accident you were talking about?_ ”

“ _He killed himself because I am a demon. Those things came out –_ ”

“ _The claws._ ”

“ _Yes, I... I killed my mother._ ”

Logan felt the blood drain from his face. Of all the things that could happen, why something so similar to his own first time? He tried to get eye contact with Daken, but his son was staring at his hands.

“ _It was an accident_ ,” insisted Daken, “ _She tried to kill me and those things just... came out and..._ ” he held out his hands, both closed in a fist, clumsily miming a movement upwards, “ _Like that. She died_ ,” he shrugged, “ _And then he came and he saw and he killed himself._ ”

“Oh, Goddess!” exclaimed Ororo. Logan looked at her. She was grey-faced and Logan could guess he was himself. The way Daken was talking was horrifying, calm and collected as if he didn't care at all and yet, according to him, this had happened only two months before to him.

“It's horrible. Logan, it's...” Ororo put a hand on her mouth.

“ _Tell the gentle lady not to be upset. My mother hated me._ ”

If possible, this broke Logan further and when Betsy translated, Ororo simply put her _other_ hand on her mouth, silent tears glistening her eyes.

Logan closed his eyes, recalling another night, another _accident_ , his own. He remembered Rose screaming, his father dead on the floor, Thomas Logan brandishing his shotgun, the scent of the blood and the gunpowder filling his nostrils, the sheer terror he had felt at seeing those things coming out of his hands, the cacophony of sounds and scents. And then his mother, calling him a freak, killing herself. If he hadn't had sweet Rose with him, he would have gone mad. His son hadn't had anyone to get through this, had went to one traumatic event to the other, and yet here he was...

Logan opened his eyes, hit by a sudden thought. _If it was the first time his claws came out, he's..._

“ _How old are you?_ ” he asked.

Daken started and gave him a withering look.

“ _So you found me? Some rule as to how old one must be for those things to come out?_ ” He gritted his teeth, “ _Here's the terrible truth I was keeping from you, the secret worth threatening me with a cage: I am a vicious, dangerous... ten-year-old child._ ” he snorted. They all stared at him, unbelieving. “ _I can't function out there. I am at your mercy. I'm very intelligent but this world is too strange and different for me. I can't fake the knowledge. What year is this? This body seems to be thirty years old, but all this progress can't have happened over the course of only twenty years. Oh, oh, I know! I heal, does it mean I age slowly?_ ”

Oh, and now he was _chatty_. A chatty ten-year-old. Logan felt a hysteric laughter bubbling against his mouth, threatening to come out.

“ _It's 2013. Yes, you age slower than others_ ,” he managed to answer.

Daken cocked his head to the side, “ _So I've lost fifty years of my life? It's a shame. Will you help me regain my memories then?_ ”

And just like that, Logan felt the dread again. His memories? When he could start all over again, make it right to his son? How could he?

He _had_ to. But in the meantime, he could try and build a relationship with his son. _A boy. Oh, he's a_ boy _. A young boy_. He was about to cry out of happiness.

“ _We'll try everything we can. You can stay here –_ ”

A cough from Betsy. Logan glanced around. _Of course_.

“ _I have to talk with them first. Can you wait a moment?_ ”

“ _I can't go anywhere._ ” Daken waved his hands.

Logan turned slightly to face the others. Ororo seemed to have calmed herself, even though her eyes were still a little red. Betsy was eyeing him, both her eyebrows raised. Rachel and Hank seemed mostly preoccupied.

“So, what do you think?” he said.

Ororo let out a sigh, “I'm concerned. He was too calm when he spoke about his parents. I can't understand if he doesn't care or if he's traumatised.”

“He's most likely a sociopath,” said Hank, putting his spectacles on the table. “Or at least he lacks empathy. I can't say more without first having tested him, but that seems more likely from what I've already seen of him. I mean, from when he had his memories.”

“But I thought that was due to the conditioning,” said Logan.

“It's difficult to tell. I think he had a hard life and he hasn't told us everything there was to it. His mother tried to kill him. Was she mad, did something happen? We don't know that, Logan.”

“I hope you're not implying that he had it coming!”

“I'm just saying that we don't know him. He's very young, yes, but that doesn't mean he's an _angel_.”

“But you _do_ think he isn't lying,” Logan insisted, looking from face to face.

“I think...” began Betsy, “I think he's telling the truth. He's never heard of Romulus before, he's never seen him. He's as fine as he can be, considering what he's been through. We need to keep him here, maybe make him attend classes.”

“You want him to be a student?” said Logan, bewildered. He hadn't expected that.

“I agree with Betsy, actually,” said Hank, “He's young and I don't think he was boasting when he said he was intelligent. He would grow bored quickly. And we don't know if, and when, we'll manage to help him with his memories. We have to keep him occupied.”

“But what if he regains his memories without our help?” interjected Rachel, “What if he's in class, with other students and he suddenly turns around and tries to kill them?”

“It's a risk,” agreed Ororo.

“But we'll always be here,” Betsy was biting gently her lip, “Rachel and me could check constantly on him. Not invading his thoughts, just checking the surface. And we could have meetings with him, to help him with the memories.”

“That never worked with Chuck. We spent years without never gettin' nowhere. And Chuck 'imself had put that chaos in my mind in the first place.”

“ _What?_ ”

“It's a long story.”

“Regardless,” said Rachel, “He doesn't know that, and who knows? It could help him. You said Charles managed to help Daken in a moment the last time.”

“It _could_ work,” said Ororo.

“But we have to warn Evan first. If he doesn't agree, I won't put him through this,” said Betsy.

“No, you're right. It wouldn't be right,” sighed Logan, “But we'll keep him here if he can't stay in the school. I don't want to lose him.”

“ _Of course_ not. And we need to talk with the others.”

“I need to run some tests before we start thinking about accomodation and the like,” reminded them Hank, “If he'll stay in the dorms, I want to put him near students he can't affect with his pheromones, and I want to build him something to learn English quickly. A sort of dictionary, perhaps, with a simple textbook incorporated...” he stood up, began pacing, “And he'll need a tutor.”

“Hisako could do,” said Logan.

“Yes. That seems about all for now. I need to make my tests, you could go and update the others.”

“We need a name,” Rachel spoke up. The others looked at her, “He's not going to use that _other_ name. He dissociates himself from his future self, haven't you noticed? It would be confusing for him to be called by that. And I think he actually despises it.”

“It's a slur on his mixed heritage,” provided Logan.

“See? It wouldn't do. Ask him.”

Logan turned again to face Daken. His son was watching him expectantly.

“ _We would want you to be a student here. Professor McCoy – my blue friend – wants to check your health, but it shouldn't take long. We'll have to talk with other people, but you'll stay here even if you can't attend the school. Miss Braddock and Professor Grey_ ,” he pointed at them, “ _will help you regain your memories. It could take a while. You and me could... talk sometimes?_ ” he waited expectantly.

“ _I would like that. I..._ ” Daken played a bit with his rags, “ _Thank you_.”

“ _And you'll have that bath now, of course. Just wait patiently for Professor McCoy to finish. Now, there's just another thing: what name do you want to use?_ ” he smiled.

Daken started.

“ _I... I don't know._ ”

“ _Think about it. What would you like?_ ”

Daken was shaking his head, “ _I don't know, really. Whatever you choose is fine_.”

Logan crossed his arms, “ _Well, what did your father call you?_ ” He figured it couldn't possibly be _Daken_ , and his son seemed to be fond of this man who had raised him, since he had jumped in his defense earlier.

Daken clasped his hands on his lap, his entire body language expressing modesty all of a sudden.

“ _I'm not worthy of that name anymore._ ”

“ _Of course you are. What is it?_ ”

“... _Akihiro_ ,” came a whisper.

Logan felt a sudden lump in his throat, one he had no control over. Daken was certainly fond of that name, in a way, since the legal documents which had started appearing after he had left Romulus' shadow featured that as a surname.

“ _It's a beautiful name_ ,” he said quietly.

“ _I can't use it!_ ” Daken was shaking his head again, upset, “ _I can't! I don't want to!_ ”

“ _All right. Aki-chan, then? Aki?_ ”

They both jumped at the assonance with _akki_. Logan winced.

“ _No, I'm sorry. What do you think about Hiro?_ ”

Daken hummed softly, drumming his fingers on his knees.

“ _Hiro is fine_ ,” he said eventually.

“ _Then it's settled. Welcome to the Jean Grey School, Hiro._ ” Logan said. On a whim, he straightened his back and put his hands at his sides, then bowed deeply, his head lowered, knowing fully well what this would mean for the boy. He kept the bow till he heard Daken gasp, but still didn't move. He heard his son rise to his feet and return the bow. When he looked up, a few seconds later, his son was still bowing, some degrees lower than him.

Sighing, he straightened himself. A second later his son imitated him, an expression of wonder on his face.

Logan smiled and turned towards the others.

“This is Hiro,” he said, “He's all yours, Hank.”

Betsy held a sardonic smile, but bowed quickly towards Daken. The boy responded in kind, keeping his bow longer and lower. The others shook his hand, but he didn't seem upset by this.

When greetings and explanations were over, the group left Daken – Hiro, he should call him Hiro now – and Hank in the lab, heading to the staff room.

On the doorstep, Logan turned and stopped for a moment, looking at his son while he was helped on an exam table by Hank. He felt his heart bursting with joy and love.

A hand brushed his arm.

“Logan,” it was Ororo, “He's going to regain his memories eventually and I get the feeling he won't be happy about this. Try not to hope too much, too soon.”

“Or perhaps he'll finally understand that I love him,” answered Logan. He didn't look away from his son.

Ororo kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“I'm just saying. Don't project yourself on him, my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Don't think about the man in the dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning!** This chapter depicts self-harm and mentions abuse, food deprivation and vomit.

 

5.

“I want to mix our blood

and put it in the ground

so you can never leave.”

Emilie Autumn - _Liar_

 

 

The strange blue demon had been kind to him, even if those tools it had been using had made him squirm in fear and uneasiness, and that certainly had been irritating, but the demon hadn't seemed concerned. The demon had even smiled, from time to time, and that had been a scary sight, but he understood that it was meant in kindness, to make him feel safer. The demon was scary, so big and hairy and blue, but seemed relatively harmless, and talked a lot, with a gentleness to its voice, even if it knew that he couldn't possibly understand it.

So, not a threat.

He was more concerned with the smaller, blue demons that appeared and disappeared in puffs of disgusting smoke, smelling like rotten eggs, but the bigger demon didn't seem to be preoccupied with them, mostly leaving them be.

The first time the little demons had appeared, he had jerked on the cold surface of the strange metal bed and the _things_ had come out, tearing through his flesh. He still hadn't gotten used to them. They were like living things, coming out when they wanted to, angry and painful and –

 _Don't think about that_.

They were very useful, though: he could also will them to existence, and he wouldn't have survived without them in that cold, scary place. The dogs had been easy to cut through. Sure, the first times he had been scared and hadn't really known what to do and hadn't even known the _things_ could come out at will. But then the dogs had bitten him and pulled, and when he had seen his own insides he had screamed and the next thing he had known the dogs were dead in a circle around him.

Now the blue demon was showing him into a big, tidy room. There were mirrors and strange little tubs hanging from walls. There was no bathtub, though. How could he wash? The blood on his skin was very unpleasant. It sticked and itched and smelled. He didn't like to smell. The men hadn't wanted to wash him, had never removed the chains from him, not even when he was in the cage with the dogs. Now he knew why: they had been afraid of him, afraid of what he could to with the _things_. Now they were dead. Served them right.

The demon was showing him a box in the corner, made of glass. It went to the strange thing and opened it – oh, it opened like the panels at home –

– _don't think about it_ –

– and beckoned him closer. He complied. It threw an arm into the box and touched a silver round thing and the water came violently into existence from _above_.

He started. Was this a demon-like thing? Or a fruit of the progress, perhaps?

The demon was watching him expectantly, so he came closer and looked at the box. The water had come out when the demon had touched the silver thing, so he pointed at it and watched the demon. It smiled and nodded, reaching again into the box to touch the silver thing again, the thick fur on its arm soaking heavily. The water disappeared. What an age of wonders! Fifty years had really changed everything.

Now the demon was pointing at the small tubs hanging from the walls; one had a mirror above it. There were silver things in them too, so he understood the basics. He pointed at them and nodded, and the demon nodded in return.

He looked at the mirror, curious as to how he looked like, and he saw a stranger, a dirty and bloodied and almost naked monster, covered with facial hair. He let out a sound of disgust, touching the ugly beard. It was long and dirty, drenched with blood and pieces of food, tangled with his equally soiled, oily hair. Disgusting.

The demon showed him where the sharp knives to shave were and gave him soft white cloths to dry himself and clean clothes to wear, then left him alone in the room.

He tore out the filthy rags and stayed naked in front of the mirror, his hands hovering on its reflecting surface. He was so big and muscular. He always had been very thin and weak –

– I am _weak_ –

– _don't think about it_ –

– but that seemed to have changed with the years. Surely an improvement. He prodded gently at his chest, feeling it firm, and went down to the stomach, also firm. Ah, but it was disgusting with all those hair. And further down, his penis hung weirdly and heavily. It was so different from the tiny appendage he remembered. He took it in his hand experimentally –

The man hovered above him, a leer on his face –

 _Nonononononononononodontthinkaboutthatdontthinkaboutthat_ –

He banged his head on the wall, breathing heavily, the _things_ extruding from his hands. He shackily grasped the tub, his knees almost gaving way under him. He managed to stand up, to have the _things_ retreat. He breathed heavily and slowly, trying to calm down.

Don't think about the man in the dreams. _Don't think about the man in the dreams!_

He grabbed a knife, grabbed the beard, and started to cut it in angry, quick strokes.

_Do –_

_not –_

_think –_

_about –_

_the –_

_man –_

_in –_

_the –_

_dreams!_

He had been so scared when he had come out from the plane and he had seen the man waiting for him. But that hadn't been the man in the dreams, that had been another man and he had known it as soon as he had spoken soothingly in Japanese. The voice was very different.

His father. Now that was something to think about! Focus on that. No need to dwell on the man in the dreams –

– _he'll visit me tonight_.

The knife cut through his cheek and he cursed, blood pouring from the wound. It closed almost immediately, though. He passed a hand on the cheek and licked the blood off it, the strong metallic taste hiding the acidity of the rising bile.

 _Do not. Do not_.

_Do not!_

He took a breath and resumed shaving. His father. He had never wanted to think about him, because the mere image of dirty, bloodied hands bending a crying girl on the ground had always been enough to make his blood boil. He usually preferred to fantasise about her, about how delicate and beautiful she would have been, how proud and strong, unwilling to let herself be defined by a dishonour so terrible. He had never blamed her for abandoning him: that had been the most sensible choice for her. He used to think her life would have been easy from that moment onwards; sometimes he had even thought he had passed her, struck by a smile on the face of a stranger up to her business, a face too similar to the one he imagined, but no, she would have been miles away, married and with purebred children.

But all those dreams had been just dreams, apparently. She had been dead all along. Had she died in childbirth? Had it been _his_ fault? Was that why his father – oh, so strange to think about that man that way – had been so evasive? He _was_ hiding something. If he thought for a moment that he would forget about that, he really didn't know him.

But he didn't, in a way. He knew another man, he knew this... Daken.

He finished cutting the beard and felt the chin undearneath, finally smooth. Now, that was more like it. He hated to feel dirty. He grabbed a chunk of hair, grimacing at the texture, and resumed cutting.

Now, he really understood, he did, in a way. Nothing better to send a message to the world than picking up a name he so despised, making a label of it and wearing it with pride. He just couldn't... he couldn't... it was just so _fresh_ , for him. He couln't quite grasp the complexity, but he yearned to. Who was this man he was going to become? A killer, whose body knew instinctively how to struck, even if he himself had forgotten. A liar, telling tales for the sake of it, or for purposes unknown. A man with a grudge against his father. He had to understand. All those threads, coming together to form a single man whose life he was stealing. What did his father see, with those hopeful eyes of his? He couldn't give him anything. He was damaged goods, with enough going on without trying to live up to the expectations of a man he didn't even know. And yet, didn't he owe him his life, if nothing else? He could try, perhaps. Try and see what would come of it...

Yes, because that had worked so much the first time. His heart started beating faster at the thought of his father, his shame and rage. He tried not to think about him, he really tried, but shame and grief struck him still. He had tried, he had tried so hard, and yet he didn't understand what had he done wrong. He had never been enough, not to _her_ , anyway. What was the point when he knew very well what he was? A killer. This other man would abandon him, because that was what was to be done with demons. He knew that; nevermind the fact that nothing could be accomplished because nothing had _ever_ been accomplished, because he was in his future self's body and if... if _Daken_ had no love for his father – because he hadn't, because his father looked at him with such expectation in his eyes – then what was the point in trying, knowing he would soon vanish?

He was shacking by that point, bald head covered in blood. He let the bloodied knife fall in the tub, its cling echoing in the empty room. He grasped the mirror. A haunted man. A body that didn't age, the mind of a child. This was a curse, he was cursed, he was damned and evil and utterly _wrong_. He let the man –

– _don't, no, don't you dare_ –

he exhaled, his father had said he wasn't a demon.

But his father had said he was.

His father – his father – _weak_ –

Everything spun and whirled and was just so confusing. He had to keep it together, he had to calm down, he had to, he had to –

 _Yes, yes, do that_. Peace descended upon him as he placed his fists on his abdomen, a thrill of expectation sending shivers down his spine. He inhaled –

– and he froze, realizing this wouldn't do, not in a room so clean. He couldn't let this people _see_. They had whipped him when they had found him, a dog had started lipping the pool of blood, he remembered the entrails hanging from its maws. He had continued doing it because it was the only thing they couldn't keep from him, and they had stopped punishing him, laughing instead whenever they found him. He didn't hurt anybody.

 _But I have to, I have to. Oh, I_ –

He stumbled across the room to the box, opened it and let himself fall on his knees. Again he placed the fists below the navel, again he inhaled, and – there the _things_ went, slicing across him. He bit his tongue in his effort not to make a sound, concentrated on the pain, on the rivolet of blood gushing out of the wounds. This, this kept them open, kept it real and true, cleared his head. He slid on the side, meeting the wall, the _things_ twisting inside him, cutting flesh and organs. He let out a satisfied sigh. The breath came out in ragged rasps, but what did it matter? He was fine, he was as fine as he could be, he could think clearly again.

When he felt better he retreated the _things_ and lay there, waiting for the wounds to heal. Now he could finally wash himself; he should remember to wash the wall too, there were traces of blood on it. He managed to get to his feet and touched the silver thing which conjured the water. It fell upon him a moment later, violently hitting his head...

… and there was water all around him, the rush hushing his muffled screams – water up his nostrils – he was dying – he trashed about but couldn't move – _she's going to stop now_ – his father shouted in the background, _no, stop_ – stop – please – he found himself back flat on the wall, the _things_ out, breath coming out quickly and loud, flashes hurting his eyes – the utter hatred in his mother's eyes as she held his neck and _squeezed_ – murmuring over and over again – murderer, demon, mongrel, murderer, demon, mongrel, murderer, demon, mongrel – his little hands hitting her chest, over and over again, trying to make her stop – _Natsumi, no, stop_ – till that _noise_ and she gurgled blood and fell, almost drawing him down with her – the horror on his father's eyes – the glee on the man's eyes – no, not the man, _not the man...!_

He stabbed himself again with his left hand, reeling to the right to stop the water from falling, searching the silver thing through the veil which clouded his eyes, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't _breathe_. _He's real, oh, the man is real, oh, father said he's real – nonononono_.

_No!_

The water stopped. He tried to inhale, coughed, tried again, blood trickling down his leg. _Breathe, you can breathe, you can_. He was shaking. He forced the _things_ out of his thigh, bent down, the _things_ hitting the glass with a sickening sound, and retched. _Breathe. Deep breaths, you can do it._

He finally managed to, slow, ragged breaths echoing in the small space. He braced himself on the glass wall and tried to stand, feet slippery with water and blood.

 _What. What_.

_What happened?_

_I couldn't breathe._

He remembered something similar from his time in the tomb – lack of air, most likely. He suppressed a shiver as he recalled his mother's cold eyes. Yes, it was raining that night, he recalled, and so the water had made him think of it and he had panicked. Obvious. Obvious. He just had to avoid staying with his head under water, and all would be well.

_I was dying and she wouldn't let go. It was an accident._

And she hated him. Never forget that, never forget her and that whiny unworthy weakling, her and her ploy to make his father abandon him. She had ruined everything. His father loved him and she had ruined everything. She couldn't ruin anything now, though.

His mind at rest, he stayed close to the wall when he stretched out his arm to touch the silver thing, his head to the side to avoid the incoming water. He would not let this weaken him, he was stronger than that and he was damn tired of his awful stench. He washed quickly but thoroughly, managing to balance himself without going under the stream when he got to the legs, holding a hand on his nose when he finally splashed water on his face and head.

He sighed contentedly when he finished, sniffing to ascertain the stink had truly gone away. He felt himself again, at last.

Was the box clean? Yes, it seemed so. No residual trace of blood. He had to be very careful with this, don't make them see. They would have thrown him in some cell, they would have been afraid he could hurt somebody, but he was in control of this, he _was_. He just had to find a quiet place whenever he needed it. He _had_ the control. He opened the box, grabbed one of the white cloths and dried himself. His hands hovered over the clothing the demon had brought, different matching sets of simple _hakama_ and _kosode_ – even if they didn't look like _hakama_ and _kosode_ at all, but he wasn't aware of their proper names. He opted for the dark green set and donned it, struggling a bit with the _kosode_ , which wasn't even open, but had only a hole for the head to put in.

Clean clothes at last. He sighed again, wondering whether they would feed him... he was starting to feel hungry, having vomited all those times today. Not that it wasn't the norm, but really, now that he was among friendly people, he could at least throw up without fearing they would make him eat it again.

Yes, today was really a good day. Singing softly to himself, he went to see the demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “Isn't this what this school is about? Second chances? Everyone's dangerous here, on their own right, but they keep us here, and help us.”


	6. Chapter 6

 

6.

“And I demand

you put my heart back in my hand

and wipe it clean

from the mess you made of me.

And I require

you make me free from this desire.”

Emilie Autumn - _I want my innocence back_

 

 

Evan was the least troublesome boy at the school. He knew that; he was zen and quiet and he tended to avoid to speak up when he was upset by something. He knew this was a problem and was working on this. So when professor Logan had called him in for a quick meeting, and had explained the _situation_ , he had been more than happy to be extremely vocal about what exactly he thought of the idea of having a dangerous murderer – who happened to have kidnapped him – on school ground, probably mere feet from him on a daily basis. He had been afraid to have overstepped the line, but the teachers had all been very kind and understanding, allowing him to rant at lenght. But when he had finished, Psylocke had taken great lenghts to explain that Daken would have been checked upon on a regular basis, that he was absolutely harmless, and that he had just been through a really tough period, without explaining what that really entailed, though. She repeated countless times that he was, for all intents and purposes, a ten-year-old in need of guidance, and that she was sure Evan would understand. She said they wouldn't have subjected him to that kind of stress without his permission, but that this really was the best solution for everyone.

“But are you sure –”

“Yes.”

“But what if he –”

“No.”

This had gone on and on and on, but in the end, it had just been a matter of second chances. Wasn't he himself having a second chance, being the clone of Apocalypse and all that? He couldn't stand there and forbid Daken's stay in the school without subjecting himself to the same kind of scrutiny. In the end, wasn't he even more dangerous than Daken?

So he had agreed to it, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. He had left the teachers just in time for dinner and had rushed to the dining hall, fervently hoping that the adults knew what they were doing.

Of course, Jia had noticed he was silent throughout the meal, and it hadn't taken long for the others to notice, too, and for the interrogatory to begin.

And so it was that now he was trying to dodge the questions to the best of his abilities.

“It really isn't my place to say. I suspect you will learn about this tomorrow.”

“But you're upset. I want to know _now_.”

“Really, it's nothing.”

“Yeah, sure,” Quentin interrupted them, leaning backwards from his table, “You're a _terrible_ liar.”

“Don't go meddling in my brain.”

“I'm _not_ ,” pouted Quentin, but put his chair again on all four and resumed eating, “Suit yourself, drama boy.”

“I'm not –”

“Ignore him,” said Jia soothingly, “Please, Evan, tell us.”

And really, had he even promised not to talk?

“So –”

“Ah!” snorted Quentin, leaning again from his table, “I knew you were going to talk.”

Trevor glared, “Come join us before you break your neck.”

“Yes, Quentin, please,” added Idie.

Quire moved his food to their table, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So? Speak,” he waved his hand in the direction of Evan.

“So, it's about Wolverine's son –”

“The blue guy from the future?” Jia furrowed her brows.

“Uh, no. It's the other one, Daken.”

“Haven't heard of him.”

“He's some crafy guy wif daddy issues,” Quentin was talking with his mouth full of food. He swallowed, and said: “And what has he done?”

“Apparently he's here. And he'll stay here for a while.”

“Excuse me?” spoke Santo from another table, “Isn't the guy a murderer? Dude, I was there when Osborn's Avengers attacked Utopia!”

“Yes, and we kicked his ass!” called Megan, “It took only three of us, nothing to worry about!”

“I don't think that's safe –”

“I don't want him here!”

A ruckus ensued. Every single student seemed to have an opinion about the issue, and many were against it. Evan sat there, face in his hands, wondering how the teachers would have taken it.

Their table was mostly quiet.

“... So,” said Jia, “I don't really understand. Is he dangerous? What are we talking about here?”

“We're talking about a trained assassin,” said Quentin, “And why exactly do they think it's a good idea to have him here?”

Evan shrugged, “He's got amnesia. So they want him to stay here, to keep an eye on him,” he looked up from his plate, watching the chaos he had brought about, “I'm sorry, I can't...” he grimaced and stood up, picking a fork and his glass. He started hitting the glass with the fork, shouting: “Hey! Hey!”

Eventually silence settled and the other students all looked at him.

“I...” he cleared his throat, “We should be ashamed of ourselves! The headmaster's son needs a hand and we should help! Isn't this what this school is about? Second chances? Everyone's dangerous here, on their own right, but they keep us here, and help us,” he trailed his gaze over their faces. Some were watching him with utter disbelief, but others were _listening_ , and even nodding. “They have assured me he's harmless. He's amnesiac and needs a place to stay. Surely we can help with that, be a family to him?”

Julian shouted: “He's _dangerous_!” He almost spelled the word, as if thinking Evan was terribly stupid.

“So am I! Hey, so are you! So is _everyone_ here,” with a large swipe of his arms, Evan seemed to point at every single one of them. “If the teachers are fine with this, shouldn't we at least try?”

“And if he regains his memories? He'll kill us all!”

That was actually what worried him the most, but the teachers had all seemed pretty sure that wouldn't be the case – or at least, that they could stop him if needed. So he sighed and said: “Then, it seems to me the most sensible thing to do would be _not_ to antagonize him, don't you agree?”

That got someone thinking, at least. Conversation resumed, more quiet. Evan sighed again and sat.

Quentin was looking at him, his head cocked to the side.

“Great speech, oh fearsome leader. Too bad you don't believe a word you've just said.”

Evan started and returned Quentin's stare, “I _believe_ in second chances.”

“Yeah, sure. But you're scared out of your mind.”

“I said don't go meddling in –”

“I keep telling you I'm _not_ ,” Quentin scoffed and pointed at the other students at the table, who _were_ regarding him with side glances and preoccupied expressions, “It doesn't take a telepath to notice. So,” he leaned towards Evan, and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Mind telling us why, and why did they tell you before anyone else?”

Evan fidgeted his napkin, unsure.

“Oh, _come on_.”

“Evan –” Jia put her hand on his, “You can tell us,” she smiled. She was regarding him with such a proud expression on her face. He looked from Idie to Trevor to Broo, unusually quiet, and returned his gaze to Quentin.

“Ok, but you have to swear that you are _not_ telling this to anyone,” he whispered.

“Scout's honor,” whispered back Quentin, holding up three fingers.

“I'm _serious_ –”

“We're all serious, Evan, come on,” Jia patted his hand.

Evan sighed and leaned on the table, the others lowering their heads accordingly.

“Ok, uh, Daken was with the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants that kidnapped me in Genosha.”

“ _What?_ ” Jia's whisper came out more loudly than necessary and Evan winced and raised his head to ascertain no one was eavesdropping this time.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, “Uhm, _what_?”

“It's not really that bad. Wolverine and the others came and... saved me,” he tried not to shiver remembering the scene he had witnessed: the headmaster drowning his son, Sabretooth laughing and taunting. He avoided looking at Quentin, hoping he really wasn't rummaging through his mind. That had _been_ really shocking and horrible. And the teachers seemed convinced the amnesia was induced by that. Not so impossible, probably.

“Wow, you really _are_ a saint.” Quentin whispered, “I would have been very angry at this, had I been you.”

“Who says I'm not _angry_?” he whispered back, “But it would lead me nowhere. This... person who's coming to stay with us _isn't_ Daken. He's mentally a child, they said.”

“A child?”

“Uh-uh. Ten or something. And he only speaks Japanese. They're going to have Hisako help him.”

“And where will he sleep?”

Broo spoke up, “In the room next to mine. They're bringing him there right now.”

Idie seemed very concerned, “Are you fine with this? What if he hurts you?”

Broo shrugged, “There's no need to worry, Idie. They assure me he's harmless, and they are putting an alarm in my room.”

“An alarm won't help you if he _sneaks_ in your room,” said Quentin.

“Oh, come on!” exploded Evan, “You're overreacting.”

“And you're not reacting at all. The guy kidnapped you! We're compensating,” grinned Quentin.

“I plan to avoid him, thank you very much. There's no need to be difficult about it,” Evan stood up, “I think I'll go to my room. Goodnight.”

Jia moved to follow him, but he stopped her and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“No, really, I'm fine. Goodnight.”

But he didn't sleep that much.

 

* * *

 

Broo didn't sleep that much either, but not out of any concern for his new neighbor. His sleep cycles weren't that long to begin with, and then there was the matter of his midnight _snacks_. He tended to avoid thinking about it, do the deed and return quickly to his room, but the animals had started noticing there was a predator and stopped going near the school. So now he was faced with the dilemma of deciding whether to leave the school grounds in his search for food, talk to the teachers of his problem, or cowering in his room in shame, hoping against all hope that that terrible hunger went away.

So it was that he was curled up against a wall when, well into the night, a wail coming from the next room startled him from his thoughts. He got to his feet and turned to face the wall, curious. The wail went on, turning into a gasp and a harsh intake of breath, then he heard the noise of the bed creaking.

Broo almost reached for the alarm; almost. In the eerie silence that followed – he didn't dare breathe – he was sure he heard _crying_ , little muffled fits of hysterical sobs. Was he trying not to be heard? His hand hovered over the alarm. Was it really his place to tell? The alarm was for attacks, not nightmares. Wasn't he entitled to some privacy?

“What ails you?” he murmured. Silence punctuated by stifled shrieking was the only answer.

Broo sighed and rested his head on the wall. “Yes, I know,” he said. He let his hand fall.

 

* * *

 

Hisako was at Daken's doorstep very early in the morning. Logan had honored her by giving her so delicate a task and she was determined to fullfill it to the best of her capacities. She had decided she wouldn't offend Daken by behaving like he was somewhat not trustworthy: that seemed to be what everyone was thinking, but she trusted her _sensei_. She trusted Logan.

So she inhaled and knocked lightly.

The door opened almost immediately – had he been waiting on the other side? – and she was met with quite a sight.

Even without knowing that Daken wasn't himself, she would have known there was something going on, just looking at him. She had had the _not_ -pleasure to meet him only twice, and hadn't really talked to him, but she had surmised that when a man with a healing factor decides to have a _tattoo_ , of all things, he is most likely to be really full of himself and put great attention to his good looks.

This man-child had certainly the self-awareness, but lacked everything that made the man Daken what he was. Which was good, because that would have unnerved a lot ot people in the school.

Gone was his distinctive mohawk, for starters: he had tied his hair in a loose ponytail, and he stood there with a sheepish look on his face, dressed in loose pants and a shirt. She noticed he was barefoot. _Very old-fashioned_ , she rolled her tongue on the roof of her mouth and bowed slightly. _I hope he doesn't want a pair of_ geta. Logan had told her that he had basically just jumped out of the Fifties.

“ _Good morning_ ,” she said, “ _I'm Hisako Ichiki and I will be your guide and translate for you. I think Logan-san told you about this._ ”

“ _Good morning. Yes, he did. I'm Hiro_ ,” he bowed. He motioned to get out of the room, but she held a hand.

“ _Wait. You need to put your shoes on_ ,” she pointed at her own feet, “ _Is there something like these in the room?_ ”

Daken wriggled his nose in distaste, “ _Yes_.” He retreated to the room, leaving the door half-closed.

She stayed outside with her arms crossed. He would have had a fit if she had entered, she snorted humorously.

“... _can I have a pair of_ geta?”

She groaned.

 

* * *

 

The trip to the dining hall had been uneventful, but only because it was really early and almost no one was out yet. Due to the reluctance with which Daken had put on the shoes – and he was still asking about those _geta_ – she had very nearly hoped he would trip and fall: it would have put some minds at ease to see him out of his depth. But his body was obviously used to western shoes, so there had been no problems. Which was a shame, because the two people they had run into – Julian and Santo, and she meant to have words with them later – had backpedalled away quickly when they had seen them.

“ _It's full of demons here_ ,” Daken had said, his gaze following Santo, and Hisako, reminiscing Logan's warning about talks of _akki_ , had corrected him gently.

Now he sat rigidly on the chair, sniffing the breakfast and eyeing warily the table, probably searching for chopsticks.

“Itadakimasu,” he said eventually, and mirrored her movements with the utensils. She froze and battled whether to echo his words, but decided against it. Instead, she said:

“ _I've been in America for years; sometimes it's too easy to forget the customs of home_ ,” she bowed her head, hoping not to have offended him.

He bowed his head in return. “ _Your speech pattern is strange, senpai_.”

“ _Languages evolve. Oh, that reminds me!_ ” she reached in her pack, bringing out a tablet, “ _McCoy-san stayed up all night to finish this for you!_ ” she put it on the table and slid it towards him. He touched it, jerking when it lighted up.

“ _What is this?_ ”

“ _It will help you learn English. It translates simple sentences, both written and oral. If you want to know how to say a word, you can simply write it, or say it... and it will appear here, see? For the english words there's a beginner section with the transliteration in katakana. The device will know when you're advanced enough and then the transliteration will disappear. There's also a grammar, and a useful section with most used sentences..._ ” she realised he wasn't really paying attention anymore; he was already skimming through the first chapter of the grammar, his eyes moving quickly over the screen.

She resumed eating, watching him intently. Well, wasn't he a sight. Very polite and endearing. And quick, too. What a shame he was so intent on killing Logan in his free time.

But this was Hiro, not Daken. She cleared her throat and glanced around, noticing the hall had started to fill up, but that there was a void around them, all the tables circling theirs being empty. Most students were trying to act as if all was normal, but some stared surreptitiously in their direction, speaking with low voices. _Great, just great_. She returned her attention to Daken. He seemed to be engrossed in his reading, but he couldn't fool her from this close: he was very aware of his surroundings.

Nonetheless, he didn't speak till he finished the chapter. Then, he tapped experimentally on the screen, writing two _kanji_ with quick strokes of the pen. He stared at the screen and mouthed silently a word.

She bit her lower lip when she recognised it.

“Mon-gu-re-lu,” he sniffed, then glanced up at her and smiled. “ _This is truly a wondrous thing. I shall thank the blue demon._ ”

The blue demon being Beast. _Oh, God_.

“ _Mutant. I've already said this to you. It's disrespectful to use that word_.”

“ _I apologize_ ,” he winced, “ _It's all so strange to me._ ”

“ _Yes, I expect it to be. I apologize, this must be hard on you._ ”

“ _Quite_ ,” he resumed eating, not even once looking around. Now the room was really almost full, and yet the tables nearest to them were still empty. He had to have noticed.

“ _Haven't you got questions?_ ”

He swallowed and put the fork on the table, “ _What should I expect?_ ”

She crossed her arms.

“ _What do you mean?_ ”

“ _It has... ah... come to my understanding that Daken hurt seriously a number of the students._ ”

Daken. That was the first time he referred to the man he was, and he spoke of him as if he _wasn't_ him. _But he isn't. He's a child! Stop it, you said you would have behaved with him_.

“ _He has. But we also know you have nothing to do with him_.”

“ _That's not really true_ ,” he spread his arms, showing her he _had_ noticed the empty tables.

She winced and nodded, “ _They'll come around. That's new for us, too. They just have to see you._ ”

Daken emitted a noncommittal sound, “ _That seems unlikely, since even Logan-san seems to have problems with that_.”

She furrowed her brows, but before she could ask him what he meant, he added, “ _What about the student I kidnapped? Evan-san. They said he most graciously allowed me to attend the school_.”

Had it been really wise to tell him about it? No, she wouldn't question Logan. It would have been far worse to face an enraged Evan and have to deal with Daken afterwards.

“ _From what Logan-san told me, it ended well. They retrieved him and left you – I mean, Daken,_ ” she switched the subject, “ _sulking somewhere._ ”

“ _Why did he capture him? He's a child, I... Daken was an adult_.”

“ _I don't really know. You should ask Logan-san_.”

That quieted him. He had a pained expression on his face. He gritted his teeth, his eyes unfocusing. His left hand twitched, and she noticed the tips of his claws surfacing. She debated whether to call someone – she, of course, like Broo, had an alerting device with her – but decided against it when he unclenched his jaw and gave her a tired smile.

“ _Please, tell me more about the school. Is there a library?_ ”

Taking a mental note to pay closer attention to him, she complied.

 

* * *

 

They went from class to class and always the same scene took place.

She would enter, introduce him as Hiro, listen to the teachers reassure the students (she stopped translating the third time, Daken was getting the gist of it pretty quickly) and sit with him throughout the lesson. He was very attentive and managed to work both with her and the tablet; he didn't seem to mind at all about the glances and whispers. By the end of the second lesson he was already greeting in English and trying small sentences with her, a slight accent in his voice. It was terribly incongruous to see this grown man sit on chairs built for teenagers – and he, as Hiro, wasn't at all accustomed to sit on chairs, too – but not even once he complained. And the _politeness_. It was truly horrifying, especially when Julian flat out threatened him and, when she refused to translate, Daken simply strolled through, saying: “ _The_ fool _rushes into a fight when he is outnumbered._ ”

He gave a ominous tone to it, and she run after him without translating, suddenly preoccupied.

“ _He was just saying that he'll keep an eye on you. He's worried you will harm his friends._ ”

“ _I had gathered as much. It seems the most sensible thing to do_.”

“ _You aren't going to harm him, right?_ ” she asked, breathless.

Daken stopped walking.

“ _It would be stupid of me. He was simply territorial. He did not threaten without reason, unlike other people_ ,” he grimaced.

 _Other children_ , she thought. She had to remember this was a child.

“ _Good, then_ ,” she hesitated, “ _In the next class..._ ” she cleared her throat. “ _Evan will be in the next class. I will show him to you..._ ”

It turned out there was no need. When they got to the room, Daken stopped two steps into the class, faltered, and resumed walking. After the usual introduction they sat – she noticed Miss Grey put them as far as possible from Evan - and Daken glanced towards Evan and said: “ _That boy reeks of fear._ ”

She looked at Evan, which wasn't showing outward signs of being upset, but was indeed sitting very rigidly on his chair. Jia sat beside him, glancing every now and then at them.

“ _Is it him, then?_ ”

“ _Yes_.”

Like that morning, she noticed his eyes unfocus. She slid her hand in her pocket.

A few seconds later, he turned towards her.

“ _Is it considered acceptable to excuse oneself to attend to one's daily needs?_ ”

“ _Uh... ah!_ ” she very nearly blushed, damn her. “ _Yes, yes, of course!_ ”

She notified Miss Grey. Daken stood up, his left hand shacking slightly – she wouldn't have noticed, but it was close to her head.

“ _Do you need for someone to accompany you?_ ”

“ _No, thank you._ ”

He slid away in a moment and she let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding. She saw Quentin stare at the door.

 

* * *

 

The next few days were pretty much the same – Hiro was always timely and polite. They shared their meals – no one had dared sitting with them yet, but the tables next to theirs had began to fill up again. It was difficult to fear him: even knowing who he was and what he had done, it was becoming clear with every passing day that Hiro – curious, how she had started calling him that way in her head – wasn't Daken at all. He had already had the first joint meeting with Psylocke and Miss Grey, but to no avail; he had retired early that day, a pile of books from the library threatening to fall from his arms. She wondered idly how he could possibly think to read them all with his nonexistent knowledge of English, but he seemed persistent and, well, if the librarian didn't complain... He had also had a meeting with Logan: they had talked quietly for half a hour, then Hiro had suddenly cut off the meeting, fleeing to his room. Hisako had stayed in the cafeteria, eyeing her mentor as he slowly slid in his chair, staring ahead with a teary-eyed look.

Evan's group was pretty clearly avoiding them, and she honestly didn't dare blame them for it. She wasn't sure on the specifics of the kidnapping, but Logan was set on avoiding the subject, so she complied. She could see this was troubling Hiro, though.

One day, on her way to her room, she saw Broo waiting for her in a corridor.

“Hisako!” he greeted her, “How, uh, how are you?”

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“I am fine, thank you, Broo. What about you?”

“I am as well, thank you,” he kept glancing around them, “Do you perchance speak with Hiro?”

“Yes, of course,” she furrowed her brow. “Why?”

“I was merely wondering how he is.”

“Well, you should talk to him,” she smiled, “You know, you're the only one who uses the name Hiro, as of yet! He would be delighted to speak to you. He pretends he doesn't care when he hears _Daken_ , but really, he doesn't fool me.”

Broo played a bit with his tie.

“Does he seem... ah... well to you?”

That got her attention. “Well, he seems as fine as one can be having an amnesia and struggling with a different environment. At least they have stopped with the whispering, that was troubling him. Why, have you noticed something?”

Broo was the only one who spent with Hiro an almost equal amount of time, of course. She had never seen them talking – Hiro had nearly jumped when he had seen Broo the first time, and she had had to reiterate _again_ that there were no _akki_ in the school – but they were neighbors, and she knew fully well the walls were a joke.

Broo straightened his tie and adjusted his glasses on his nose.

“No, nothing. I was merely curious. I think I'll try and talk to him, he seems very intelligent.”

She furrowed her brows, “Yes, but talk slowly, his English is still rusty,” she bit her lip, “Broo, if something is troubling you –”

The alien was already walking away.

“Don't you worry, Hisako. I will talk to the teachers if I notice something is off.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “Evan-san,” said Hiro from the ground, “Can we talk, if you please?”
> 
>  
> 
>  _Geta_ are a kind of traditional Japanese footwear, wooden sandals with an elevated base, to keep the feet well above the ground. You can see them in _Wolverine: Origins 26_ at young Akihiro's feet.
> 
>  _Itadakimasu_ , literally "I humbly receive", is said before a meal. It's considered very impolite not to say it.
> 
>  _Katakana_ is a Japanese syllabary, used to transcribe foreign words into Japanese.


	7. Chapter 7

 

7.

“So write this on your soul

or don't waste my time:

if I'm going down, then I'm going down good,

I'm going down, then I'm going down clean.”

Emilie Autumn - _Let the record show_

 

 

Daken was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. Hisako couldn't understand how a boy so proper and respectful as was Hiro could turn out to be the ruthless assassin she was reading about in her free time. She had been doing her own research, since Logan had been extremely evasive on the subject, and had noticed that Daken didn't really appear on record until a few years earlier: it was as if he had come out of thin air. She knew of Daken's charade as Osborn's Wolverine, of course; she remembered the cocky, arrogant man that had attacked Utopia along with the other lackeys, and before that, she remembered how he had managed to outmaneuver an entire team of X-Men she was on – if someone had told her, she mused, she wouldn't have believed it. It turned out that Daken had somehow managed to create a ruckus in Madripoor, too, before switching his attention to Los Angeles. And then, well, the fiasco in New York. But there wasn't anything on him from _before._

When she had cornered Logan about it, he had admitted that he didn't know anything about his son's life prior to when he had made himself known to him. He also had admitted that apparently Daken had spent the entirety of his life with a man named Romulus, and he put on said man the blame for how Daken had turned out to be. This perplexed her: seeing how Logan's own clone had turned out to be, one could argue that really, something at least run in the family. Of course, there was the training; but she was beginning to think the seeds were there, even if she couldn't see them in the quiet Hiro.

To tell the truth, he was _too_ quiet, given the situation he was in. Sometimes she stopped and compared him to Laura, and the similarities were there. Yes, they both avoided company as much as possible. They both showed an awful amount of restraint. And they didn't talk about their past, ever.

But where Laura had grown up, taken her own road, Hiro was at an earlier stage, a child with no road before him. He already knew what he would turn out to be. She was worried: what did he really think of the situation? What did he think of them, of the school, of himself? He was always so silent; it was impossible to see him without a book or the tablet. And whenever she managed to shift the conversation to his childhood, or how he was, or what did he think of something, he excused himself to go to the toilet. Really, what a stupid excuse! It was obvious he was avoiding certain topics.

“All right, that's all for today.”

She vanished her armor and rotated her shoulders and head, sighing softly. She hadn't agreed with the teachers' decision to avoid to have Hiro in the combat classes, even if she understood that having a trained assassin in a room full of kids would have been highly stressful for them. But she had thought that this would estrange him further, so she had almost set up a crusade. But then Hiro himself had told her that he preferred not to fight, and that he didn't even think he needed to, since Daken's body was obviously accustomed to it. And then Logan had showed her the video of the warehouse, and she had seen the wisdom to it. It hadn't been pretty and it wouldn't have been if Hiro had lost control in class.

She chatted quietly with the girls as they took their things. Tutoring Hiro was proving to be all-time consuming: she barely had time for herself anymore. Not that she did mind, she was proud of this accomplishment, but the truth of the matter was that she could have real conversations with her friends only during the combat classes, while Hiro stayed behind reading, usally in the corridor near the class, waiting for her to come out.

She was coming out of the class with Roxy and Megan when she saw, ahead of them, Evan's group coming to a halt before a kneeling figure. She did a double take and froze on the spot, recognising Hiro. He was bowing deeply, his forehead and hands touching the ground. _That's_ dogeza, she thought. Behind her, she heard a harsh intake of breath. Logan. She stretched her arms out, blocking her friends.

“Evan-san,” said Hiro from the ground, “Can we talk, if you please?”

“Well fuck me,” said Megan in the ensuing silence. She put her hands on her mouth, eyes wide, turning an interesting shade of crimson, “What? Since when does he speak English?” she whispered from behind her hands.

“Be _quiet_ ,” Hisako shushed her. Logan came to a halt near them, his eyes wide as plates. He seemed to be debating what to do, but he knew as much as her that interrupting would be uncouth.

“Speak,” said Evan. She couldn't see his face from where she was; but Jia was angled right and she, too, had a look of pure shock on her face.

“Alone, if you please.”

“That's _so_ not an option,” spat Quire. Jia went on her tiptoes and whispered something in Evan's ear. He nodded, then turned to Logan, a question in his eyes; Logan nodded briefly.

“All right, this is not a show,” said the Professor, starting to walk towards them, gesturing to Hisako and the others to follow him, “Clear the corridor.”

“But –”

“You heard me, Quire. We'll stay a few meters ahead. Come on, come on!”

As she passed them, Hisako glanced at Hiro's kneeling figure.

“You can... stand up, if you want,” said Evan hesitantly.

“No.”

When they were reasonably far, but not so much as not to see Hiro and Evan, Logan turned towards the assembled group.

“Call me if something happens,” he said to Hisako, and moved as if to walk away.

“Wait a moment,” said Quire, “You aren't going to stay?”

“He knows I can hear, it's not right. Call me if something happens,” he repeated, and left them.

“But... but...” Quire spread his arms, “This is ridicolous! What is he even doing?”

“Be quiet,” hissed Hisako. She was close to smacking Quire's head – a common reaction for her, these days – and was trying very hard not to make a scene. “That's _dogeza,_ he's apologising.”

“He doesn't even _know_ what he's apologising for!”

“ _Be quiet_!”

She crossed her arms and turned to watch the scene. Evan was speaking quietly; Hiro still hadn't moved. Now he stirred, said something, grabbed the tablet. He wrote as Evan answered. He cocked his head to the side, staring at the screen, and spoke. Evan answered, his hands thrust in his pockets, rocking slightly back and forth on his feet. They spoke for a while, then Hiro put the tablet on the floor and bowed again, his forehead touching the ground.

Evan stared at him for a few seconds, perhaps expecting Hiro to stand up, then shrugged and walked towards them. Hiro didn't move.

“That's creepy as hell,” whispered Megan, “Can I talk, now?”

“Yes,” Hisako bit her lip. Evan reached them.

“Aaaand what did he want?” asked Quire, grabbing Evan's arm, eyeing warily Hiro.

“He simply asked what happened. He wanted to know if Daken had touched me. Does he always refer to Daken in third...?” he turned to Hisako. She nodded, “Well, he nearly beat me into a pulp –”

“ _What?_ ” came Jia's outraged cry.

“He's a villain, what did you expect? I told him, he asked me to spell it, and then he apologized. Is he... supposed to stay in that position?” he asked, concern in his voice.

Hisako nodded, “ _Dogeza_ is the most formal apology. And he comes from a different time period than me. I think he'll stir only when he's out of your sight.”

“For real?” Evan scratched his neck.

“For real,” she bit her lip again.

“Well, that was highly educational,” exclaimed Quire, “Can we go eat now? I'm hungry.”

They left, but Broo trailed behind, turning every now and then to look at Hiro. Evan stayed a moment longer, his hands in his pockets.

“This doesn't count at all,” he said to Hisako, “I didn't know what to say to him, but this _doesn't count_. He's not Daken.”

She shrugged, “He knows that. He just wants to have a quiet stay here, I think.”

Evan closed his eyes. “This isn't right. I feel like _I_ am the villain.”

He left her wondering on the meaning of his words. She approached Hiro warily; she stopped just a few feet from him.

“ _He's gone_ ,” she said. Hiro stirred and got to his feet in a matter of moments.

“ _Can we go eat?_ ” he said as he gathered his things.

She started, eyeing him. Was he feigning disinterest, or just hiding from her?

“ _Yes, of course_.”

She had to admit, that stunt had shaken her. And not just her, apparently; as they reached the dining hall, she noticed confused gazes towards them. Word had gotten around fast. To perform _dogeza_... well, that was simply not done lightly. And now she knew why he had insisted so hard on learning English.

They sat and ate in silence for a while. Hiro seemed intent on not speaking of the matter, but she couldn't contain herself.

“ _You did a good thing. I'm proud of you. I mean, it's not something you remember, so it must have been hard to apologise. It's almost as taking the blame for someone else._ ”

He chewed slowly before answering, “ _I had to perform dogeza. I couldn't go on without knowing_.”

She froze, fork midair. _Know_. Not apologise, know. She forced herself to eat. He hadn't meant to apologise at all, it had been a _performance_.

She coughed, “ _If you didn't mean to, you shouldn't have done it._ ”

“ _Oh, but I did want to. I wouldn't have gotten the information if I had simply asked: it had to be dramatic._ ”

And to say something like this, so lightly! She put away fork and knife and straightened herself.

“ _Dogeza is not to be performed as a means to an end! It's an ancient –_ ”

“ _Weren't you the one who said that it's easy to forget the customs of home, senpai?_ ” he interrupted her. She jerked back as if slapped.

“ _You little –_ ”

“ _You don't even_ know _. You have no idea what –_ ” he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. She waited.

Hiro exhaled, “ _I apologize, senpai. I really do. I know it was vulgar of me. But I had to know what happened! And I did want to apologize to him, in a way. I know it's not as if Daken apologized, but it's better than nothing._ ”

“ _Wouldn't it have been better to ask Logan-san about it and then apologize heartily?_ ” she crossed her arms.

Silence. Then: “ _Logan-san makes me uncomfortable._ ”

She stared at him: he seemed deadly serious. She gazed around, looking for Logan, and found him watching them from afar, a proud look in his eyes. She sighed and returned her attention to Hiro.

“ _Why?_ ”

Hiro didn't answer right away, instead playing with his food. _Well, he's distressed all right_. She didn't force him to talk, instead resuming to eat.

“ _He –_ ” Hiro fidgeted, “ _He is not my father_.”

She didn't answer, watching him expectantly.

“ _He's very... different from my father. And he talks, and talks... I know what he is doing_.”

“ _What is he doing?_ ” She furrowed her brows.

“ _He – He is taking advantage of the situation. It is what I would do_.”

“ _Advantage?_ ”

“ _Yes! He wants to know about me, and my life –_ ”

“ _Well, he's your father_.”

He shook his head, “ _He talks about mother – Itsu, she was called_ ,” he folded his hands on the table before him, “ _He talks about what life he would have wanted to live with us. It's all a lie. And he knows that. And I know that. He's doing it because Daken wouldn't hear him out, but it's like he doesn't listen, too_.”

“ _How do you know that Daken –_ ” she managed to say, even as she herself knew that Daken had tried countless times to kill Logan.

“ _Because he talks as if he expects me to interrupt him. Because he's wary as much as I was when I saw him, when I thought –_ ” he clenched his teeth, “ _Forgive me. And he doesn't tell me half the truth there is to Daken. When I ask about him, he changes the subject!_ ”

“ _He doesn't want you to live under the shadow of Daken. Perhaps he thinks that you deserve to have a chance to a different life, now that you can_.”

“ _What's the point? I'm a ghost: Daken will return, sooner or later_.”

 _That doesn't seem a healthy attitude_ , she thought. “ _I don't want to scare you, but Logan-san lived for years without his memories of the past. It could happen to you, too_.”

Hiro paled. “ _I can't live that much with this... this..._ ” he shivered. Suddenly he was on his feet, grabbing his sack. “ _I'm late for the meeting with Rachel-san. Excuse me._ ”

 _Your meeting is in half a hour_ , she thought, but didn't stop him. He would go to the toilet or perhaps his room and sulk a little. She should force him to face a conversation without his juvenile attempts at avoiding it, but he _was_ a child.

She bit her lip.

He _was_ a child, but he was also mature enough. His stunt with Evan spoke of cunning she wouldn't have expected of a ten-year-old. Why had he been so set on discovering what had happened, it was a mystery to her. She was curious too, but there wasn't really much to know: evil group kidnaps Apocalypse, they want him for their plans, they are beaten by the good guys, end of story. Wanting to know if he had touched Evan? Of course he had: he already knew Daken was a criminal, surely he didn't expect him to have had gently asked for Evan's help? What a flair for the dramatic. She huffed and resumed eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next: “I renounce you as my son. No longer shall you have the name Akihiro.”_


	8. Chapter 8

 

8.

“You know how hard it can be

to keep believing in me

when everything and everyone becomes my enemy.”

Emilie Autumn - _Opheliac_

 

 

“ _Focus_.”

He liked Braddock-san. She was precise and didn't lose time on stupid questions: usually they just sat in the room and she proceeded to gently prod his mind. Sometimes he even noticed her presence: she called it his natural resistance to mind-reading, much like Logan-san's own, apparently. This, she explained, was the reason why they couldn't say with certainty when he would regain his memories. It was a long process, which took trials and restarts. As of yet, they hadn't accomplished anything; but he liked the quietness of the room: he liked to be able to just sit there and let his thoughts flow, it was relaxing. Her presence was soothing: he managed to avoid thinking about _everything_ , whether for self-preservation or sheer exhaustion he didn't know.

Rachel-san, on the other hand, was annoying, always fussing and asking him about things. She had no grace at all and was terribly obtrusive.

Today was strange, though. He didn't know if it was because Evan-san's answer had given him actual peace of mind – oh, he had been _terrified_ to ask – not that the dreams had stopped, but the mere fact that he hadn't _subjected_ Evan-san to –

_Do not think about that._

– but he felt more acutely the tendrils of Braddock-san's presence prodding at the surface. She must have grasped it, too, because she repeated sharply, both aloud and in his mind:

“ _Focus._ ”

On what? Cracks were showing. It occured to him that, were he to give her full access to his mind, she would have seen unspeakable things, things he couldn't let go of. Oh, the matter of darkness and nothingness, the dark shape of his dreams –

She would _tell_.

She was _advancing_ ; she wasn't prodding anymore, but exploiting an entrance. His mind was his to dispose of as he pleased: his house, his rules. She wasn't forcing her way through, not exactly: she had said she couldn't, for fear of hurting him. She could only follow his trails.

What could he give up? _Not the man_ , he thought with horror, his hands twitching – he forced them on his knees, gritting his teeth, _Do not think of the man_. Nor the fits. They were dangerous, he was dangerous, they would have thrown him away. He liked the school, he liked that the students treated him with respect. He had the _control_.

The _accident_.

He _had_ the control.

As soon as his mind was set, Braddock-san broke through on that rainy night, that nightmarish moment of madness. Rain fell heavily as –

– _his father threw him across the door, their clothes soaking heavily in a matter of seconds._

“ _Do you understand what you have done?”_

_Akihiro stumbled on the cold ground, trying to get to his feet._

“ _I have done nothing!”_

“ _Nothing? You have murdered him!”_

“ _He simply fell! He was a weakling, a tiny thing. Aren't you glad he died now, that your affections hadn't had yet the time to hatch? You still have me, father –”_

_His father slapped him hard across the face._

“ _He fell, in the river? You were seen. You taunted your mother about it.”_

“ _She isn't my mother!” anger distorted Akihiro's features, “Do you think I do not know? Do you think I did not_ hear _? She has no love in her heart for me! But you, father, you love me –”_

“ _How can I love the bane of my son?” his father swayed, and yet he walked straight towards him, his eyes hard and unforgiving, leading them away from the house._

_Akihiro walked backwards, pleading, “I am your son! Am I not enough? Why don't you love me? You don't need anyone else!”_

_His father froze on the spot._

“ _You don't even understand what you have done. And I have a duty to my family, a duty to this household. I have to protect them from the likes of you.” His eyes were sad. He sighed, “So be it. Leave this house, never to return.”_

“ _Father,_ no _–!”_

_His father's head fell, “I renounce you as my son. No longer shall you have the name Akihiro.”_

_Tears came to himself-as-boy's eyes. Detached, he watched himself as he spat those venomous words: “That was never my true name,_ anyway _.”_

_A thunder. He could see Braddock-san's figure, unaffected by the rain, a focused, hard expression on her face._

“ _Murderer!”_

She _came out of nowhere, brandishing the bayonet. His father was so proud of the weapon, which he had brought home from the war. He polished it lovingly every day._

_Now she had her filthy hands around it: she hit him across his face with it, the blade slashing his cheek, and grabbed his neck, a mad light in her eyes._

_His father shouted: “No, stop!”_

_But she didn't heed him, instead squeezing hard his neck. He tried to hit her, shove her away, but he was so small, his fists fell on her chest like nothing. She had the fury of an unloving woman, the hatred of a dragon._

“ _Stop, please,” he chocked out, gasping for air. His father was shouting, echoing his words, trying to shove her away from him –_ So you do love me, father _, he thought incoherently – but she was madness incarnate, murmuring over and over again:_

“ _Murderer, demon, mongrel, murderer, demon, mongrel, murderer, demon, mongrel,” squeezing hard, harder,_ harder _, he couldn't breathe –_ she's going to stop now _– his fists lacked energy; he latched his fingers to the front of her kimono, he felt faint –_

“ _Natsumi, no, stop!”_

_Everything was a blur: he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, lights flashing in his eyes, he was letting go –_

Snikt.

_He felt her grip loosen and came alive, gasping for air. His hands and wrists hurt like they had been shredded to pieces, his arms ached, as if needles were stuck in them._

“ _Mon... grel,” she exhaled, and then coughed, gurgling blood out of her mouth. She fell backwards, and he almost fell on her, drown down by something –_

 _Pointy things slid out of her, slick with blood. His father catched her; he stared down at her, at the things, at the things coming out of his_ hands. _Still gasping for air, he walked backwards, his gaze fixated on the things, the wail of his father hurting his ears_. _Why was he so_ loud? _What were those_ things _, what,_ what – _he grabbed one of them, tried to pull it away, but it wouldn't_ come. _He screamed._

_His father turned towards him, horror in his eyes._

“ _Father...?”_

“ _What_ are _you?” came a hoarse whisper._

“ _What am I? Father...?” he stared at his hands, shaking, “I killed her? I... I... I killed her. Father, forgive me –”_

“ _Your mother was right. A_ demon _who brought a curse upon our house_ – _”_

“ _No, I...”_

 _His father came to his feet, grabbing the bayonet. He pointed it towards him. He froze, waiting for him to shoot, to kill him, to end this, this... this madness. He was a demon._ She was right.

_His father let down the weapon, anguish in his voice as he spoke._

“ _I... cannot,” he pointed the bayonet towards himself, “I am weak.”_

_He didn't even have time to scream; as he rushed forward, his father fired, his head exploding, fragments of his skull flying all over the place, hitting him, the grass soiled with blood and pieces of his brain._

“ _No!” he screamed, “No you can't, no, don't leave me, don't abandon me, you can't, you can't...!” but it was hopeless: he was gone, he had preferred to leave him behind._

_Everything was amplified: the rush of the heavy rain, the smell of the blood, the noises of the forest, the... the rustling leaves._

_He spun, “Who –? Is someone watching?”_

_Silence. A low rumble._

“ _Who is there?”, he screamed. The leaves parted_ –

He hit a wall. There was darkness, darkness and silence, a nothingness, a void. He thrashed about, trying do discern noises, scents, _anything_. But there was nothing, there had never been anything, there would never be anything, that road was closed to him. He couldn't _breathe_ –

“ _I got you_.”

He came alive, his body pressed against Braddock-san.

“ _I got you, I got you_ ,” she was murmuring in his ear, embracing him. He was rocking back and forth, his hands dug deeply in his thighs. They were pale and stiff like monstrous spiders. Had he managed not to stab himself? Oh, there wasn't blood. Good.

He tried a few times to speak, but his voice wouldn't come out.

Finally, he managed to. “ _Was it useful?_ ”, came as a whisper.

Braddock-san disentangled herself from him.

“ _It could be. Now that I have a way in, we can work on it. That darkness was the manifestation of your walls. I wonder –_ ” she bit her lip.

“ _What?_ ”

“ _I was thinking that,_ if _we knew the catalyst of your amnesia, we could ascertain if it can be traced back to that night_.”

“ _Like... like two points on opposite sides, encircling those fifty years I don't recall?_ ”

“ _Yes._ _I... I_ think _the events of that night might mirror the moment your brain shut down and made you forget._ ”

“ _Oh! You're right!_ ” He clasped his hands. It was so obvious! “ _I almost died that night, and Daken probably died a while ago. Now you just need to discover how he got in that tomb! I bet he suffocated._ She _was strangling me._ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” she said, her gaze moving away from him, “ _Yes, we will work on it._ ” She got to her feet. “ _I know it was stressful and terrifying, but I have to know now. Who did you murder?_ ”

 _I knew I had to give up something_. He braced himself for her punishment and answered truthfully.

“ _Their child. He was a few months old._ ”

“ _Why?_ ”

“ _I was protecting myself. She didn't want me, she would have convinced my father to abandon me. She has never loved me_. _You can throw me in that cage, now_.”

She sighed, “ _Oh, Hiro, child. I won't do anything of the sort. What you did was wrong. But what you need now is help, and love. There's nothing wrong with you._ ”

He knew that. He didn't need her to tell him. He had acted on his best interest, and he hadn't done anything wrong.

But he lowered his head and murmured, “ _Thank you_.”

“ _Is that why you can't sleep?_ ”

He whipped his head up. She was watching him, her eyes softened.

“ _A student heard you. She came to us and told us. Child –_ ” she motioned towards him, because he had lowered his head again, thinking quickly. _Oh, please, no. No, no, no_.

“ _Child, there's no shame in crying. Do the nightmares happen often?_ ”

No, no. He couldn't let them know, he couldn't!

“ _I..._ ”

_Give up a piece of truth and she won't see the lie._

“ _Sometimes, I dream about that night. I am deeply ashamed of it. Yes, I fail to sleep on those nights. But this doesn't happen too much._ ”

“ _I see. Whenever you want, you can come to me or Rachel. Yes, even in the dead of night. Sometimes I forget you are so young..._ ” she sighed. “ _I think that's enough for today. Wouldn't you think?_ ” she held a somewhat forced smile on her face. Honestly, adults. Didn't they know he could smell the lies on them?

_But she fell for it. Don't tempt fate. Go away, now, before she decides to set a guard upon your door every night, to have you followed at all times._

“ _Yes. I thank you again, Braddock-san. Will you... will you tell Logan-san about this?_ ”

“ _I'll have to._ ”

Good. Perhaps this would wipe that annoying hopeful look off his face.

 

* * *

 

_I know you're there, Quire._

Quentin sighed and went to her room, hands in his pockets. Psylocke waited for him at the window, a single eyebrow raised, not impressed at all.

“I sensed you lurking in his mind. You're lucky Hiro didn't notice. What were you thinking?”

Quentin eyed the room before answering. Daken had gone away a few minutes before and he had decided to go down and face her.

“Are you trying at all?” he said, “Or, are you just playing with him? Can I remind you that Daken's a dangerous criminal?”

“Hiro,” she corrected him.

“Whatever. Hiro, Daken... I saw that! He killed his little brother and he's ten. What will he do if someone offends him here and now?”

“We're fully capable of dealing with him.”

“Yes, that's what you told Evan too, right? When you said that you would help Daken regain his memories and all that jazz. But you aren't doing anything of the sort. You just skim the surface and –”

“Are you talking from experience, Quire? Did you help many amnesiac men before?” she snarled, “We can't simply storm in. It's delicate work. I could do more damage than good if I forced my way through his mind.”

“Ok, I guess that's legit. But I _have_ the feeling you're playing him. You don't want to help him, you want to keep him close. You would be perfectly happy if he stayed here forever, never remembering anything.”

“That's not true,” she sat at her desk. “I want to help him. But I have to think of you students before I do anything rash. I must be delicate.”

“Ok, ok. But what if he wakes up on his own, and decides that you didn't help him? What then?” He spread his arms, “There's something you aren't telling. You and Wolverine. You know something.”

“Perhaps we do,” she said, “Perhaps I just now understood how to have him regain his memories. But _perhaps_ ,” she crossed her arms, “perhaps I'm not sure, and I don't want to damage him in the process. Or perhaps I want to see if the child can be steered towards a different path.”

Quentin let out an incredulous laugh.

“Nature versus nurture? Good luck with that! I think that's a dangerous experiment to make. But –” he bowed mockingly, “You're the responsible adults. I'm just a child. What do I know?”

He motioned for the door.

“Don't try anything, Quire.”

“I won't.”

She eyed him, distrust in her eyes.

“No, really. That's something you've got right: I've never helped an amnesiac man. I wouldn't know what to do. But I _do_ think that you aren't doing this right. It's a matter of respect. Not even towards us: towards _him_.”

 

* * *

 

 

This time, Broo was ready. Night after night he had had to hear Hiro's laments and wails. Whatever was happening in his head, it must be truly horrifying to have him wake from nightmares every single night. It hurt Broo to be so close to him and yet not being able to help him, and yet he was hesitant to come to the teachers about this, because it would lead to his own admissions, something he wasn't ready to face yet. But now he had a solution, something to distract Hiro and at the same time himself, something to help them both survive the lonely night. He knew Hiro didn't sleep at all after the nightmares: after he calmed down, he always heard him move through the room, restless.

So when he heard the usual little gasps for air and the muffled crying, he waited a little for Hiro to calm himself and then he went to his window and opened it.

“I, too, have trouble sleeping,” he enunciated clearly.

The sobs quieted completely. He held his breath, waiting for an answer.

The silence was deafening. He cracked open Orwell's _1984_ on the window sill and breathed in the nice night air.

“I find that a good book keeps good company during sleepless nights,” he said. “Wouldn't you agree?”

The window next to his opened. He didn't look at Hiro, because Hiro wouldn't have wanted him to see his red eyes, his devastated face. It would be disrespectful.

“I... I read english classics. They are... good.”

“Oh, yes, I agree. What are you reading right now?”

They spoke till dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “Where's Hiro?” he asked. Swaying, he went to his feet. He saw Trevor furrow his brows, mouthing _Hiro?_ with a hint of disbelief. “Where is he?”, he repeated, anxiety burning a hole in his chest. _He's only ten_ , he thought, a sour taste in his mouth, “Broo, _where?_ ”
> 
>  
> 
> The "accident" is a blending of what we know from canon (as seen in _Wolverine: Origins 26_ \- you'll notice I kept the dialogue) and my own headcanon. I've invented the manner of death of the son of Akihira and Natsumi (we only know that Natsumi doesn't find him in his crib) and the death of Natsumi herself. In the comic, she arrives on the scene and then in the next panel she's simply dead. I've always wondered about what happened: the signs of the claws are too high to have been the fruit of a mad, unconscious slash like that with which Logan killed his biological father.  
>  Also, the fact that Akihira _actually pointed the bayonet at his son_ kills me everytime I reread that comic. But I digress :D
> 
> Anyway! We're approaching more delicate ground. Starting next week, this fic's rating switches to Mature. I don't want to startle anyone so I beg you to pay close attention to the tags, _especially the Archive Warnings._ (also, please notify me if something I write isn't tagged properly: I'll correct/add accordingly).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning!** This chapter contains a scene which depicts **child sexual abuse**. It is _italicised_ , so that you can skip it if you so choose.  
>  **Warning** also for self-harm and talk of abuse, both sexual and physical.

 

9.

“I don't see how

I can live this way

and I don't know why he's touching me.

Believe me, this wasn't what I wanted

but no, I can't leave, he's got me.”

Emilie Autumn – _God help me_

 

 

Later that day, Quentin would have thought that the signs were there and would have cursed himself and everyone else for having been – and being still – so stupidly blind. To think it had happened by chance! How long would it have gone on, if he hadn't stepped in?

It had been a normal day up until that moment. An afternoon like many others, a moment of rest for them all after a stressful week of lessons. Hisako had even managed to drag Daken out of the school – Quentin knew that usually he retired to his room, because he had been keeping an eye on him, even though he hadn't dared approach his mind, mindful of his promise to Psylocke.

There was chatter and games. Daken had sat, his back against a tree, and started reading, tuning out them all. The girls set up a basket game and soon they all gathered around them, cheering. Quentin stayed on the edge of the group, an eye on the game, another on Daken, who seemed about to doze off – he yawned frequently and tried very hard to keep his eyes open, gnawing almost angrily, but it didn't seem to be having an effect.

Finally Daken's head lowered slightly, his hands coming to rest on the pages, and, suppressing a sigh of relief, Quentin moved his attention back to the game. He didn't like it when Daken was near large numbers of them, but what could he do? At least now he didn't pose a threat.

He cheered with the others for a while – Idie's team was winning – till he heard Broo's voice near him.

“Oh, goodness gracious.”

Quentin looked down at Broo and saw that he wasn't even watching the game: he was turned towards the trees, where Daken was. Quentin spun around, ready to fight, and materialised a psionic shotgun for good measure, but Daken hadn't moved.

“What? He's sleeping, Broo. No need to worry.” He vanished the shotgun.

“No, you don't understand.” Broo wriggled his hands and started walking towards Daken. He came to a halt a few feet from him and sat on the grass, his gaze fixated on him.

“Broo, what –”

Broo didn't even answer. What was the problem? Quentin stayed where he were, but didn't avert his gaze from the two of them. Broo seemed worried: what was he expecting? Quentin payed attention for minutes on end, but nothing at all seemed about to happen. He was ready to dismiss it as a peculiarity of Broo, when Daken shifted a bit, a pained expression on his face, his mouth open.

Broo got to his feet.

“Quentin,” he called, without even turning towards him. Furrowing his brows, Quentin got closer, noticing, as he finally joined Broo, the little jerking movements of Daken's arms and legs.

“What –” Quentin managed to say, and then a sob erupted from his mouth. He put a hand on it, turning towards Broo.

“Broo, what the hell –” he hiccupped, “ _What_ –” where those _tears_ streaming down his cheeks? He put his other hand on his face, feeling it wet.

“It's his pheromones,” said Broo, matter-of-factly. “Oh, so they have that effect.”

“Yes, very – interesting – I'm sure,” Quentin sobbed again, harder this time, “Why is he – oh God – why is he making me _cry?_ ” he wailed. He bit hard his fingers, trying to suppress the rising hysteria. He was going to _kill him,_ kill, kill, _kill_. He burned with rage and dread and fear and he was _shaking_ and hadn't the faintest control over this. _It's not me_ , he thought, _It's not me, but I can't do anything_. This wasn't a telepathic attack, against which he had weapons.

“He's dreaming. Quentin, you need to wake him up!”

“Why would I –” he sobbed, “– care what he –” another sob, “– seriously, what the _fuck?_ ”

“It's a nightmare,” said Broo, serious. “Quentin, you _need_ to wake him up. Usually he's a wreck afterwards.”

“How do you – _God_ – know this?”

Broo wriggled his hands, “It kind of... happens every night?”

“But you would have to be already awake to know that!” Quentin sniffed hard, trying to placate the sobs. “You don't sleep?”

Broo flinched. “Can we talk about this after you wake him?”

Quentin turned his attention to Daken, whose cheeks were wet with tears, too.

“Ok, ok. I'll try.”

He took a breath and _dived in_ , finding himself in a whirlwind of confused thoughts and faces, a maze on sounds and scents. _Whoa, whoa_. Everything flashed and buzzed, a chaotic swirl of images too quick to discern. _And that's why I should listen sometime_. Darkness. _Seriously, Psylocke will have to drag me out of here_. Tendrils – things – tried to take him, but he struggled, forcing his way through. _The fuck is this place? Ok, Quentin, focus. Focus. Find the dream, get the hell out of here_ – 

_A rhythmic sound: he followed it, swimming across_ _the_ _cacophony. A knot: he unfolded it, searching for the fabric, touching it till he found the loose end. The clothing lay on the floor, discarded, forgotten. The room was barely lit; almost no forniture, asian in shape? The rhythmic sound. He spun, saw an enormous, naked man whose face he couldn't see, hidden by long silver hair. He was thrusting, grunting, an animal._ Yeah no thank you. Must be somewhere else. _Quentin tried to leave quickly, but the air was thick with fear and pain and desperation and those legs he saw were too tiny and delicate to be a woman's or even an adult's and was that a_ mohawk? _He approached the man, wary, quiet, sudden dread hitting him; he saw the child bent on the table_. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, _no._ I can't deal with this!

 _The child was, unmistakably, Daken. A young Daken, nothing more than a boy. A tiny thing. Quentin felt a surge of bile coming up his physical body, but discarded it without a second thought, coming closer to the boy._ Daken. Daken, wake up. _The child's eyes were hollow; his head bounced on the table, but his body fell stiff like a corpse's_.Oh. Oh. How old are you? – I'm older than you'll ever be I've been dead a thousand years and lived only two or three _–_ _Quentin tried to touch the boy's head, but before he could, a hand jerked and throttled Daken, and another scratched violently the boy's chest, leaving marks which healed in a moment. The table was slick with blood. The rhythm never faltered._

“ _I'm hurting you for your own good. You do know that.”_

“ _Yes.”_

I will KILL you I LOVE you I HATE you do you LOVE ME –

“ _Good boy. Good boy.”_

_The curtain of the man's hair covered his face as he leaned to kiss Daken's forehead. Quentin wanted to throttle him, to kill him, to hurt him and force him on his knees and bash his head._

The lesson –

– the lesson is that I have the control. He cannot hurt me, because _I_ have the control.

Control.

Control.

_An echo._

Daken, wake up. _Quentin looked around. The room loomed over them, a void coming around to encircle them_. Daken. Come on!

 _The man climaxed loudly and Quentin, battling his nausea, surged forward and threw his incorporeal hand through Daken's head._ Wake up. Daken, wake up, now. He can't hurt you, you're safe, you're _safe._ Wake up... _following a sudden impulse, he added,_ Hiro?

 _The boy's eyes snapped into focus. He leaned into Quentin's touch like it was a caress, he opened his mouth, a scream piercing the room and shattering all to pieces_ –

– Quentin came round and found himself on all fours on the grass, throwing up.

“...entin?”

Trembling, he wiped his mouth with a hand and lifted his head, taking in his surroundings. Eye Boy was there, of course – he must have noticed something was going on before everyone else. Broo wriggled his hands nervously, eyeing him. Others loomed in the background, coming closer, speaking amongst themselves.

Quentin spun on his knees, searching wildly for Hiro.

He was nowhere to be seen!

“Where's Hiro?” he asked. Swaying, he went to his feet. He saw Trevor furrow his brows, mouthing _Hiro?_ with a hint of disbelief. “Where is he?”, he repeated, anxiety burning a hole in his chest. _He's only ten_ , he thought, a sour taste in his mouth, “Broo, _where?_ ”

“He... he run away,” shaking, Broo pointed towards the woods which encircled the school. Quentin started going in that direction, only to have his arm grasped by someone. He shoved it away, kept going.

“Quentin, what –” asked Broo.

Quentin spun, a finger pointed at Broo, “Did you _know?_ All this time, did you know?”

Broo flinched. “He has trouble sleeping, but I thought – I thought –”

“Ah!” Quentin laughed, feeling nauseous, “I can't believe this! I'm going after him, no one follow me.”

“I'll call the teachers –” started to say Hisako, her hand already in her pocket.

“No, wait a moment! There's no need.”

“But what _happened?_ ”

“You know, I really have no fucking idea. A nightmare, a –”

 _A memory_.Please _, let it not be a_ memory _!_

He started running in the direction Broo had indicated.

“Hiro!” he called as he went further and further into the wilderness, “Hiro, where are you?”

No answer came. Quentin came to a halt in a small clearing, catching his breath. “Hiro!” He tried not to think of the dream, but the scarring wrongness and horror of it were hitting him hard. And Broo had said Hiro had nightmares every night! How was it that not even a teacher had noticed anything? He had all those walls which kept telepaths out, that was true, but a child waking from nightmares every night? One would think that they would have at least put some form of control or recording near Hiro's room! And Broo...

Quentin cursed. He had almost assaulted him, but he, too, must have had his problems. That he were awake in the first place to know about Hiro's nightmares... _I'll have to apologise to him, and then we'll talk..._ but first he had to find Hiro. Hiro, who couldn't possibly be fine after that _thing._ He shuddered. He extended his mind, trying to catch a hint of Hiro's presence, and hit a wall to his left, not too far away. _Ah, I got you!_ He spun and run.

He found him lying on the side, not facing him. He came abruptly to a halt when he noticed Hiro was shirtless and the tip of his claws extruded from the lower part of his back, blood impregnating the ground. Quentin opened his mouth to call, but for a moment he stayed there frozen, not even a word coming out, only a pitiful squeak.

Then he stirred and surged forward, “Hiro! Oh, _oh_.” He knelt on the ground near the man, hovering hesitantly his hand over his shoulder. He didn't know what to do.

“Fuck. Oh, shit, fuck.” He leaned forward, trying to see Hiro's face. He was gazing forward, eyes unseeing, breath coming out in slow, ragged rasps. He had _stabbed himself_ and there was just so much _blood!_ “Come on. _Come on..._ you're fine, you're fine, you're fine, please be _fine_!Oh, please, answer me!”

Hiro stirred.

“Nani?” he whispered. He blinked rapidly, retreating the claws with a sickening sound that had Quentin almost retch again, especially when he saw something suspiciously resembling a piece of intestine trailing along. Hiro sighed softly, not acknowledging Quentin in any way.

Quentin bit his lip and settled for a neutral, soft, “Are you ok?”

Hiro spun on his knees and jerked away from Quentin with a stunning speed, his hands held before him as he stumbled backwards. Quentin really shouldn't have looked at his torso, because now he had a mildly horrifying insight as to the state of Hiro's insides. He shot his hands up and said, “It's me, Quentin Quire! You know me! You see me with Evan!”

Hiro _wailed_. Wrong thing to say?

Hiro kept a hand on his wounds and eyed him warily, his gaze still glassy.

“Kwairu-san?”

“Quentin. Just Quentin,” he pointed at the wounds. “We need to call someone for these.”

Hiro _snorted_. “There is no need. They heal. See? They always heal.” He moved away his hand to show him, his tone very placid and reasonable.

 _Yep, that isn't disturbing or anything_.

Quentin didn't move as Hiro dragged himself forward and started digging the ground, moving quickly the bloodied soil in the ensuing hole with the ease of routine. He then patted the soil evenly and smiled the satisfied smile of one who knows he has done a good job.

“See? All gone.”

Quentin felt sick.

Hiro stretched his arm and fetched his shirt from the ground.

“You were in my head, Quentin-san?” he asked as he put it on.

“... Yes.” Quentin bit his lip. “Yes, I was. Hiro –”

“You saw the man?”

“The...”

“The man in the dreams.”

In the _dreams_ , plural. _Oh, I can't do this._

“Yes, I did. Hiro, listen to me –”

Hiro caught his arm in a vice-like grip and Quentin remembered abruptly that this might mentally be a child, but he still had the upper hand physically. He had been so concerned over what he had seen, over the _kid_ , that he had almost forgotten he had an adult body.

“His face. Did you see his _face_...?” Hiro was asking. He was, probably unconsciously, affecting him with his pheromones: Quentin felt a rising hysteria.

“No, I... I was trying to... wake you up. I didn't... pay attention,” he stuttered. “You're hurting me. Hiro, you're _hurting_ me.”

Hiro jerked and let go as if Quentin had slapped him.

Quentin massaged slowly his arm, “Hiro, are you ok?” He nearly winced at the sheer idiocy of his question.

Hiro clenched his jaw, avoiding obstinately Quentin's gaze.

“Please, Quentin-san. Please, don't tell anyone.”

 _Not a chance_ , he thought, but bit it back and said, instead, very calmly: “I can't do that. You need help.”

“I do not. There is no need.”

“You _do_. For the self-harm and... and...” shit, he couldn't even say it without feeling ill.

“Self-harm?” Hiro cocked his head to the side, muttering, “Self... harm. Self... oh!” he shot a huge smile, “Oh, I understand! But it does not harm me. It helps!”

Could it get any more worrying? “Yes, that's... exactly the problem.”

Hiro crossed his arms, hands clenching and unclenching. “There is no need,” he repeated. Was he trying to convince Quentin or himself? “It does not harm me. I always heal.”

“Yes, ok, but it hurts. It provokes _pain_. Why do you do it?” He figured he could at least get Hiro to talk about it for now, calm him down.

“To regain control of myself. It helps clear the head.”

And who wouldn't want to clear his own head after something like that?

“.. _. ok._ Does it happen often?”

Hiro grimaced. “Not much. I did it a lot in that place. Here it is nicer, but sometimes it is too much and...” he trailed off.

 _That place_ was the warehouse, Quentin thought. He had found some video in the school's server while he rummaged around and watched one or two, disgusted and angered by what Hiro had been subjected to. So basically he was saying that he stabbed himself on a regular basis.

“Do you do it... because of the dreams or...?”

Hiro shrugged. “Not always.”

“... ok. Broo said you don't sleep –”

“Yes.”

“So just to be clear, you... you have this dream... every night?”

Hiro shifted a bit, “They are always different.”

_Oh, shit, great._

“Listen –”

“They are not dreams, I know,” Hiro interrupted him, his tone dry, “At first, I thought they were. They came when I was in that place and I thought... I thought it was because of the dogs and the chains. But then Logan-san said they were _real_ and –”

“ _What?_ ” Quentin couldn't believe what he just had heard! “No, wait. He knows?” He shook with anger. Had he left Hiro alone in this, had he –

Hiro was shaking his head, “Please do not tell him!”

“No fucking way. I'll squeeze his brain out of his head, the asshole –”

“No, no, he does _not_ know!” Hiro said emphatically. “Do not tell him, please!”

 _What_ , Quentin's thoughts deflated, “He doesn't?”

Hiro shook his head, “Please,” he repeated, “Please, _no._ ” There was such force behind that word, such pressure oozing on his skull – pheromones? – that Quentin really was beginning to worry. Why so set on keeping Logan in the dark? On such a subject, really? He could understand reticence, it couldn't be easy to talk about something like this with your own father – with anyone, truth be told – but something was wrong.

Trying to at least _seem_ calm and collected, Quentin went on: “Ok. So, if he doesn't know, how do you know they're real?” _Memories. They're fucking memories and I need help here. Should I call Psylocke? Or do I wait?_

Hiro was rubbing his arms, “He said that a man brought me up. Romulus. It is him, is he not? The man in the dreams. Mu. The void. Please don't tell Logan-san.”

“But why?”

“It is... I have no right to tell.”

“Why?” Quentin repeated softly.

“It is...” Hiro wasn't looking at him, clearly at a loss for words. “Private. Secret. Intimate.”

 _Damn right it was_ intimate _, that monster was shoving_ – Quentin gritted his teeth and sent that thought derailing. _I'm an asshole. A freaking asshole._

“Hiro. Is it always like this, in the dreams? Does the man,” he struggled, trying to find words neutral enough, “Does he – ah – _touch_ y –” he froze midsentence.

“Quentin-san?”

Quentin smacked his hand on his head, “ _No,_ ” he exhaled. “Jesus Christ on a bike.”

Hiro raised an eyebrow and _giggled_. “I am not... familiar with that phrase.”

Quentin stared at him, suddenly feeling like a complete, utter, absolute _idiot_.

“You asked Evan if Daken had _touched_ him.”

Hiro winced. “Yes.”

“I can't believe I didn't... oh, so much for the high IQ!”

“The what? Is that –” he didn't finish the sentence, because Quentin had leaned forward to take Hiro's hands and was now holding them.

“What are you –”

“I am so _sorry!_ ” Quentin said, “I should have noticed, I should have helped you! I failed you. _We_ failed you.”

“You do not even _like_ Daken,” Hiro said. He had the most strange expression on his face, guarded and at the same time utterly vulnerable.

“I don't even know him. Never spoke to him. But I decided you were a danger and didn't even listen to what you were saying!”

“There is no need –”

“No, there is! You, you thought Daken had – had done to Evan the same thing the man does to you in your dreams!”

Hiro exhaled softly. Then: his shoulders crumbled, and he let out a sob.

“I... I... I was afraid. He said I kidnapped him and he does not want to tell me what happened and, and I thought that I, that I had, that I had done _things_ to him, all those things the man does, not just _that_ , you know, other, other _things_ and I would not _do_ those things, I would not ever, ever, they are... they are – I do not understand! I do not understand the man, I do not understand what, what he does, what does Daken –” he sniffed, “I know what I am. I am cruel. I do not care what others need and... feel and... want and, and I thought that if Daken had done that thing, that I did not want to be him, but not because I do not want to hurt someone,” he laughed hysterically, “Because I do not care what happens if I get what I want, but because there is a line –” he was shaking, “There is a line, Quentin-san, between a beast and a man and I am a man. I am a man. I am not a demon. And that man, that man is a beast, but Daken – I do not understand what Daken feels, the dreams are... are always so strange and – conflicted? You use that word? And I want... I, I want...” he burst out crying, “I want to go away!” he chocked out betweens sobs, “I did not want this, I wanted my father, I only wanted my father! This, this is Daken's life, he can deal with it, I cannot! That man, he got him, he got him when my father died and he... he... he... And maybe he got over it, I do not know, but I have to deal with this and I do not want to! I want to go _away!_ ” he shoved away Quentin's hands and hugged himself, his hands gripping his upper arms.

There was something wrong in seeing this grown man hiccuping and wailing like a child... the child he was, after all. Quentin felt as if he were intruding on something deeply private, something Hiro would not ever let others see, let alone Daken – Daken had to exercise a lot of restraint, he thought, but he was an adult and he knew how to deal with his problems and most importantly, he was not there. Hiro on the other hand was a child – self-controlled, yes, but still a child – and needed help. He was basically admitting to be suicidal. Quentin was trying to decide the best course of action when a psychic shout almost had him drop on the ground.

_Quire! Quire, are you ok?_

_Ow!_ It was Psylocke's voice. _Seriously, the hell?_

_Are you ok?_

_Yes! I –_ Quentin trailed his gaze on Hiro, _We're fine. Everything's fine._

_Are you in danger? They said Hiro had some kind of attack..._

_No, he's fine. We're just talking, see?_ He flashed an image of the two of them, sitting on the grass, Hiro a sniffling mess.

… _is he crying?_

_It's a long story. Can I explain later? We're staying here a while longer._

_Quire..._

_Everything's fine, bye!_

He shut down her voice and returned his attention to Hiro. “Hey,” he said softly, “They're looking for us.”

Hiro cringed and wailed softly. “Please...”

He couldn't possibly be still asking for his silence!

“Hiro,” he tried to sound reasonable and professional, “You see that now you feel better? You need to talk. Talk is good.”

Hiro shook his head, sniffing hard. “I do not feel _better_. That was awful.”

“Look, you can't keep this shit inside you. It hurts you.”

“It's _personal_.”

“Strictly speaking, it's not. It's Daken's business, which is, ok, you, and I agree, it's his business, but it's affecting _you_. You need to talk about it with someone.”

“Oh? Why? Is there someone in the school with the same experience?”

“... not that I know of.”

“Then what could they do? They don't know _what it means_.”

“Logan –” but he couldn't say nothing else, because Hiro snarled.

“I will _not_ tell Logan-san!” Then, as hit by a sudden thought, he pointed a finger at him. “You! I can talk with you!”

“I'm flattered, really, but I'm not –”

“You already know, so it is easy. And I trust you. You will not tell anyone, yes?”

“I –”

“What? You said I need to talk. I will not talk with anyone else. And if you tell someone, I will not talk even with you! You cannot force me to talk if I don't want to. So if you want to help me you'll have to do what I say!”

That was so childish and absurd that he stared at Hiro, already thinking how he could spin the situation, agreeing to it and then telling the teachers.

“I will know if you lie! If I notice someone is strange around me, I will stop talking. _I will not say a word to anyone_. I will stay silent forever. I have those walls in my head, good luck if you want to get inside. I will talk with you, because you are the only one who has not lied to me since I am here. _The only one_. But I will only if you swear you will not say anything to anyone!”

He was deadly serious. He would do as he was saying, Quentin knew it. Between this childish silence game and actually help him, what was the best course of action? He was right, his head was safe like an adamantium strongbox. He was more malleable when sleeping, as he had discovered, but what would have happened to his brain if they had forced their way through? Should he really succumb to this blackmail?

“Let's say I agree – and I'm not saying that I do, but _if_ I agree, we get to talk. For real. You will come to me when you have nightmares and you will come to me when you want to... stab yourself?”

“And you will _not_ say a word of this to anyone?”

Quentin sighed. “Look, it's complicated. It would really be best for you if you simply talked with the teachers.”

“No.”

“But _why?_ ”

“Because... because –” Hiro closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, tilted his head, opened his eyes again, “Because Logan-san does not help me! He does not listen to me. He talks about fantasies and he is lying to me. He and everyone else. I can smell a lie.”

Could he, in all honesty, tell that wasn't the truth? He had already noticed. Something had happened that they wouldn't talk about. They were wary around Hiro; Psylocke had admitted that she had an idea as to how to help Hiro but now she was experimenting on him. That was infuriating and maddening for him; he didn't dare think what would Hiro think of it – what would _Daken_ think of it, once back. And Logan... Logan _was_ living in a fantasy. It was as if he thought that he could wipe away all his interactions with Daken and start again. But he was hurting Hiro in the process, managing to estrange him too.

“I want to help you,” he said. “If I do as you say... if I don't talk about your nightmares with anyone, will you permit me to help you?”

“Yes.”

_Shit, am I really doing this?_

“Ok. Ok, I agree. I do hereby solemny promise. But there's a problem,” he held up a finger when Hiro made a sound of distress. “No, I promised and I _will_ keep my promise, but hear me out. They are waiting for us and they know something got awry.”

“Oh, that's easy!” Hiro stood up, extending a hand towards Quentin. He took it, surprised. Hiro helped him get to his feet and flashed a huge grin. “Give up a piece of truth and they won't see the lie!”

With that, he set off without even a second glance. Quentin went after him, taken aback by the sudden change in mood. Oh, he was no fool, he could see that Hiro had simply donned a mask as soon as it had become clear that Quentin would have done as he said: but that left him wondering how much could he rely on his promise to talk. Would he do as they had decided or would he try and avoid Quentin? This left him in a bad situation. He couldn't risk estranging him by going to the teachers about this: Hiro, even if under duress, was choosing to trust him. Could he really help him? _But it's better than nothing_ , he thought. _If I'm the only one he wants to talk to, I'll do my best_. The most important thing was that Hiro was admitting he hurt and was willing to deal with it. He had set boundaries, as was his right, and he would respect them. He could always see how it went and decide accordingly.

They reached the edge of the woods and he saw that there weren't many people waiting for them: most of the students seemed to have gone inside, and he could see a group waiting for them near the school, mostly adults. As they walked across the lawn, Quentin saw that Broo, too, was still outside: he seemed to be having some sort of emotional breakdown, sobbing hard against Beast's leg. So he was right, Broo had had his own problems. What a poor friend he made! Quentin gritted his teeth, turning to watch Hiro, who had switched his stance to walk with his shoulders slightly hunched, a contrite expression on his face. _Top-notch acting_ , he thought with admiration. 

When they were reasonably close, Logan left the assembled group.

“Hiro,” he said, his face full of worry. His gaze trailed all over Hiro. “Daijoubu desuka?” he held out a hand to him.

“Father,” Hiro said. From the comical widening of Logan's eyes, Quentin would say that that was the first time he was actually calling Logan _father_ , “I have not been honest with you. Moushiwake arimasen.” He bowed deeply. 

“Oh, ah,” Logan stuttered and Quentin had to force himself not to roll his eyes, “It's nothing. It's nothing, son –”

Hiro straightened himself, shot his arm to the right and grabbed lightly Quentin, pushing him forward. Logan moved his gaze on him, a question in his eyes.

“Quentin-san has been very helpful. He has offered me his friendship.”

“I'm glad to hear that –”

_Yeah, right, sure._

“What happened?” came the question from Storm.

“Uhm, Hiro had a nightmare –”

Broo sobbed louder. Quentin moved a bit on the left, trying to see him. “Hey, what happened to _Broo?_ ”

“Broo-san has been very helpful these nights, talking with me when I woke up,” said Hiro absentmindedly, nodding and smiling, “Thank you, friend!” he called.

Broo lifted his head from Beast's leg.

“Oh, no, don't thank me! It's my fault! If I hadn't been so focused on myself, so terrified of telling the truth about the m... m... monster I am –”

“Oh, Broo, you're not a monster,” Rachel went to her knees, “We'll solve this, I swear.”

“But I should have gone to you sooner, tell you that Hiro didn't sleep and I... I didn't –”

Hiro crossed his arms, “I do not care why you did it or if you could have done best, you helped me,” he said, very matter-of-factly, “You could have ignored me but you did not. I enjoyed our talks of books.”

Broo sniffed and raised is head.

“You... you did?”

“Yes.”

“You don't hate me because I didn't tell them you were suffering?”

Hiro shrugged. “If I had wanted them to know, I would have done it myself.”

“Hiro...” Logan seemed to be struggling for words. The other teachers stayed silent: probably they had already discussed this among them. “Why did you not tell us? Why did you not tell me?”

 _And that's the moment of truth_ , Quentin thought. What would Hiro say?

“I was ashamed of my dreams. I dream of that place... they hurt me and I had to do those... things and I have always the fear that this is a dream and that I will wake up and I will be there or... or in the tomb and... sometimes I dream the accident. And I am so afraid that I can't go to sleep again.” He sniffed.

 _A piece of truth_ , indeed. Quentin couldn't rule out that he could be having this kind of dream, too, and they weren't so unbelievable.

“Hiro –” Logan motioned towards him, but Psylocke spoke.

“This can't be all there is to it. We knew of the nightmares, you admitted to them. We didn't know it happened every night, but why hide it, Hiro? You can tell us. We can help.”

“Because I... I... Quentin-san has a word for it?” Hiro turned towards him and prodded gently his arm. “Self...?” He watched Quentin expectantly, as if to dare him to fulfill his part of their bargain.

 _And what are you going to say exactly?_ Quentin thought, but played along, “Self-harm.”

“Yes.” They both turned again towards the X-Men, and Quentin saw that Logan had paled considerably.

Storm had taken a step towards them, too, concern on her face.

“Yes, I... sometimes I am very afraid of the dreams and so I harm myself. With the things. The claws. And I was ashamed of it, I did not want to admit it, but Quentin-san says that's wrong and –”

Logan let out a sob, reaching Hiro in a few steps and hugging him fiercely. Quentin left them a bit of space, stepping to the right with his arms crossed. Logan was speaking haltingly in Japanese, tears streaming down his face. Hiro was very rigid, but was allowing the embrace. God knew how he could permit being touched in such an intimate manner after a dream like that, but it almost seemed as if he was willingly subjecting himself to that to avoid other questions.

 _We will have to talk about that, too. That's not healthy. Maybe with time I can convince him to speak with others, too..._ He looked around and saw that almost every single one of them was teary-eyed; Rachel was even watching _him_ with a sort of proud, satisfied little smile. _Unbelievable_. Had Hiro really managed to outmaneuver them all?

It appeared so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “Correct,” repeated Hank, and shook his head. “So you don't want him to regain his memories.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** for a brief situation concerning underage sex.

10.

“Am I guilty or am I just waiting around

for the tide to come in

so the truth can come out?”

Emilie Autumn – _God help me_

 

Logan had a problem: Hiro was avoiding him. All his efforts to establish a connection with the child, to form an enduring bond, had been met with cold courtesy and a sort of resignation. He met Logan's questions with polite, firm answers and listened dutifully to his tales, but that was about it. Logan had thought about teaching him baseball, but the proposal had been dodged quickly. Hiro had no interest in him or in games: he almost exuded apathy when talking to him. But it wasn't the norm: yes, he spent the majority of his time reading, but Logan had also seen him with Hisako and he seemed talkative enough.

And now this: ever since the accident in the garden, when he had admitted to cutting himself with his claws – Logan still wouldn't comprehend how he couldn't have noticed, and to think _Quire_ had, of all people, only added insult to injury – Hiro seemed to be taking great pains to have something to do whenever Logan approached him. Be it a terribly important essay – his english had really improved over the course of so little time – or an experiment for Beast's class, it simply couldn't wait.

 _I didn't pay attention_ , he thought, _and now he's punishing me. He was hurting and I didn't notice_. He had payed no heed to the moroseness of the child, because he had simply thought Hiro was adjusting to the new situation, or perhaps that he feared that Logan was trying to take the place of Akihira, the man who had raised him. How could they have been so stupid? How could they have been so blind as not to understand that the experience in the warehouse had left scars on him? It didn't take a bloody genius to notice. He had thought that love and a warm environment would erase the warehouse, never thinking of making him talk about it, simply because he never approached the subject.

But they weren't great educators to begin with, were they? Broo, too, had preferred to never talk about his renewed Brood hunger. Didn't the students know that they could trust them?

Sighing, Logan entered the lab and went to sit at one of the tables.“Am I doing something wrong, Hank?” he asked, face in his hands.

No answer came. Logan gazed around: the lab seemed empty. “Hank? 'Ro?”

“Here, Logan!” called Ororo's voice.

“Where...?”

Both of them came suddenly into view from behind the time machine, Hank wearing a pair of goggles on his nose.

“It seems everything's all right,” he said, setting various tools on a table.

Ororo sighed and settled on a chair. “Good.”

Logan looked between the two of them. “Why did you call me, then?” He stretched his legs under the table.

Ororo shot him a _look_. “Kymera called. She said she has a lead on the Brotherhood of the future.”

“Oh, good! Good news, finally.” He didn't look forward to meet another son who apparently hated him, but at least they could send them to their time and never think about it again. “Does she need help?”

“She'll call when she has a location.”

“So I was checking if the time machine's still working,” added Hank, “I would hate to have problems just when we need to send them back.”

Right. The machine didn't seem to be working properly, since it hadn't sent back the original five. He seethed at the thought of the children in Summers' hands, then he bit his tongue. _We have enough problems with the students here._ Kitty's betrayal hurt still, but he couldn't afford to think about it just now.

“So. You were saying, Logan?” Ororo asked, her head tilted to the side.

“What?”

“When you came in. You said something.”

“Ah! It's nothing, really.”

“Logan,” Hank rumbled gently.

“Well,” God, he felt so stupid. “I was thinking about Hiro.”

“Ah.” Hank set the goggles on the table. “An interesting child, isn't he?”

“You could say that.” He sighed. “It's just... I feel guilty. How could we not notice? How could I –”

“I wouldn't lose my sleep over it, Logan. He was set on hiding it. It's pretty standard PTSD, if you think about it.”

“We should've thought about it first!”

“ _I_ thought about it, Logan. Betsy and Rachel and me.” Hank sat. “With traumas of this magnitude... you can't just force something on someone who's undergone such things, Logan. We knew he would have talked about it when he had felt ready. And he did.”

They had thought about it? And never told him? Why –

 _Ah. Because I_ should _have known, without anyone telling me. What kind of father am I?_

“But in the meantime _he hurt himself_ , Hank. Repeatedly.”

“I admit we hadn't thought of _that_. So you see, it was our fault as much as yours. And I repeat, Hiro didn't _want_ us to know. He must have taken great lenghts to assure himself of it.”

Logan sighed. He had taken to try and recall every single time Hiro had hid somewhere, and they had been an awful amount of times.

“I thought... he would've trusted me. I thought... I don't know what the hell I thought,” he put his face in his hands, “He's so cold!”

“He saw his parents die. He killed his mother himself. That leaves scars, Logan. He fears contact. He doesn't _want_ to trust people.”

“I'm his father!”

“Yes,” Hank gritted his teeth, and set his hands on the table, palms up. “And you're not helping, either.”

Logan furrowed his brows.

“What do you mean?”

“Logan...” Ororo put a hand on her mouth and shook her head. He looked between the two of them, incredulous.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Hank played a bit with the goggles before talking. “If...I had to guess, Logan,” he started, looking down at him from his nose, “I'd say he's overwhelmed by your... enthusiasm, and... on top of that, he senses you're hiding something. It's not the basis for a healthy relationship.”

Logan let out a strangled laughter.

“I can't tell him I _killed_ him, Hank!”

“No. But you can give him some space. And _answer_ him, for God's sake! Hisako told me he asks about Daken.”

Logan crossed his arms, “'ave no intention of discussing this, Hank.”

“What harm could it do, satisfy his curiosity? What do you fear? That he will suddenly hate you? I'd say you're digging your grave yourself.”

“Hank...” Logan growled, “Stop now.” This wasn't his business. This wasn't anyone's business but _his_. He knew how to treat his child!

“Can I ask you something? What are you trying to _accomplish_?”

Hank crossed his arms and leaned towards him; Ororo was looking alternately at the two of them, a preoccupied expression on her face.

“What am I trying to –”

“ _Yes_ , Logan. What do you _want_? Why is Hiro here?”

“I want to... make it right to him.”

“Make _what_ right?”

“His _life_ , Hank.” Logan sputtered, “I've never been there for him. Never. His life's been hell because I didn't know he existed! If I had known, I would've saved him. But I couldn't do anything. Romulus molded him into something... something horrible and cruel. I have the chance to correct that!”

“Correct,” repeated Hank, and shook his head. “So you don't want him to regain his memories.”

“I –” Logan clenched his hands, “I want to make it right,” he repeated. “I can show him. I can show him that I love him.”

“Logan, that's not love,” interjected Ororo. “And he'll hate you for it. I remember a man who had no memories of his life and searched for the truth about himself. Should we have stopped him?”

Logan jerked back.

“That's _not_ the same thing, 'Ro.”

“It _is_. Why should it be different? Didn't you feel whole again when you regained your memories? Why do you want to deny this to Daken?”

“Because his life has been wrong!”

“Who are you to say that?”

“ _I'm his goddamned father!_ And if I had the chance –”

“This is _not about you_ , Logan!” bellowed Hank. “This is about him! You simply don't have the right to cancel fifty years of his life as if it were nothing!”

“Even if those fifty years 'ave been nothin' but deconstruction? Romulus shaped a weapon. A cold assassin. He's got no thought of his own.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Hank threw his hands in the air, “You're talking about your son. How can you say that?”

“It's the truth!”

“He's got no thoughts of his own or you don't like what he thinks?”

Logan found himself on his feet. “I'm _warning_ you, Hank.”

“I doubt he is a robot, Logan! Why can't you resolve your issues with your son the way normal people do?”

“Look, it's...” Logan gritted his teeth. What did Hank know, anyway? Nothing. He had had no contact whatsoever with Daken. But Logan _had_. He didn't know the extent of the damage, but he should have been blind not to know. “This is all hypothetical. Betsy and Rachel are workin' on it, they are helpin' Hiro. I simply don't want to discuss Daken with Hiro. And when he'll regain his memories –”

“He'll hate you.”

“He'll know that we've been doing all in our power to help him. He'll have seen that he can talk to me without tryin' to kill me.”

“It's not _how it works_ , Logan!”

“Hank –”

The doors of the lab flung open and Betsy came in.

“Are you finished with the shouting match?” she asked, both her eyebrows raised. “I need your help, Hank.”

The three of them regarded her. Logan furrowed his brows.

“Hadn't you a meeting with Rachel and Hiro?”

“Oh, _that_?” Psylocke shrugged as she walked towards them, “We had to change the schedule a bit. Rachel's with Broo now. As for Hiro...” she crossed her arms, “He didn't show up.”

“What?” Logan was already moving towards the door, but Psylocke grabbed his arm.

“Relax. He's in the school. He's with Quire.”

“Quire?” Logan repeated, “Quentin Quire?”

“Are there other Quires?” Psylocke shot him an amused glance and motioned to Hank. “Turn on the screens, let's see if we find them on the surveillance cameras.”

“But –” Logan stayed where he were. Yes, he had seen them together, these last few days. He didn't like the thought of having him around Hiro, though. Even if he had to thank him for the discovery of Hiro's nightmares, he feared the influence he could have on him. “Don't you know where they are?”

“Quire's hiding himself,” said Psylocke as Hank turned on the screens. Images of the corridors and classrooms filled them. She leaned on the console, focused on the screens. “And Hiro's resistant to telepathy, as you know. I sense they're together, though.”

“Why would they hide?” asked Ororo, joining them at the console.

“They are doing something they don't want us to know, obviously.” Psylocke bit her lip. “Ah! There they are! The lounge, Hank. Put it on the bigger screen. And zoom in, please.”

The monitor flickered and showed Quire and Hiro sitting on a couch, a laptop in front of them: from the angle of the camera, they couldn't see the screen. Hiro was staring at it; Quire was gesticulating wildly and talking.

“The audio?” asked Logan, joining them.

“Coming –” Hank pushed a couple of buttons.

“– thousands of miles away. So I'd say he was alive... And that's it. After this, he's off record again. Not a photo, not a video, nothing.” Quire leaned towards the laptop, pressed some keys. “That's the latest image I could find.”

Hiro touched self-consciously his head, still staring at the screen. He had a horrified expression on his face. “Does he shave every few hours?” He passed uncertainly his fingers over his own hair, and moved his long ponytail to his back.

Quire burst out laughing, “Oh, the existential doubts! Of all the things I showed you... Yes, I think so,” he snorted, “Given your hair grows so quickly.”

“But _why?_ ” Hiro grimaced. “It's so strange!”

“Hey, I'm offended.” Quire touched his own head. “The mohawk is a fashion statement. I must say, he has an excellent taste. And look at the _clothing! Excellent_ taste.” He nodded.

Logan paled.

“He's talking about Daken. He's _showing_ him Daken!”

“It seems so,” said Psylocke, and grabbed his arm when he moved towards the doors. “Stay here.”

“I don't want him to know anything about Daken!”

“You're being ridicolous. You knew he wanted to know; you were never going to stop him forever... and now it's too late, anyway.”

“I'm gonna _kill_ Quire.”

“No, you won't. Shut up, I want to see his approach.”

“His _approach?_ ”

“Shush!”

He shoved her hand away, but complied.

Quire was sniggering, while Hiro was looking at the screen, a furrow in his brows.

“You didn't mention the kidnapping, Quentin-san.”

Quire calmed himself and coughed. “Yeah, right. It happened _after_ New York. Let me...” he leaned forward and pressed some keys, “Ok, then. Evan was kidnapped here,” he pointed at the screen, “That man is named Blob, and _that_ is Victor Creed... he's a psycho. Daken doesn't appear anywhere. And I have no idea as to where you... they... brought Evan, but Evan says Daken was there...” Hiro nodded and grimaced, “Ok, and then we know Logan and Psylocke came and saved Evan. And that's the last time Daken's position was known to us: four months ago.”

Hiro crossed his arms and sank in the couch. “And then...”

“And then,” Quire sighed, “The warehouse.” He esitated, hands hovering over the keyboard. He looked at Hiro, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Hiro gritted his teeth.

Quire pressed something. “That's the place.”

“Yes, I recognise it.”

“Ok, according to Cap's records you were there for seven weeks. That's an awful amount of time,” he glanced sideways at Hiro, who was staring hard at the screen and didn't answer. “The problem is that you couldn't tell me where you were buried. So I've been taking a look at the cemeteries in the area of the warehouse, but I've found nothing so far. And let's be honest: even if I found it, they don't usually have cameras, so it would be pointless.” He leaned back on the couch. “I'm sorry, but that's the best I could do. We will never know what happened to Daken, unless the teachers have access to other sources.”

Hiro didn't answer right away; he kept staring at the screen. What was on it? Was Quire showing him some video of the fightings? Thad idiot! Logan clenched his fists, taking a look at the others. They all were staring intently at the scene unfolding in front of them. This was absurd! He had managed to avoid Hiro's questions and now Quire was destroying all his work.

“How long –” spoke suddenly Hiro. “How, how long –”

“– you were in the tomb?” Quire said gently, “If we don't know when you got in...”

“What's the worst... the case... how do you say that?”

“The worst case scenario.” Quire grimaced. “You've been here five weeks. You were there seven weeks. That's three months. The last time you were seen was four months ago...” he closed his eyes. “It can be anything, ranging from a day to a month.”

 _A month_. Logan shook his head. _My God, a month. A month in that fucking tomb._

“But we don't know, really,” was saying Quire, “So I'd say, let's stick to some days, ok? It's not as if it can change anything.”

“A month. It certainly seemed like it.” Hiro turned towards Quire, “It seemed an eternity. Do you know how it is to be buried alive?”

“I can't say I do, no.”

“You can't breathe.” Hiro folded his hands on his lap. “You can't breathe, so you suffocate. But I heal! So everything that needs to grow back, grows back, and you can breathe again, but there's not much air. So you die, and you come back, and you die, and you come back, and you die, and you come back...”

Logan felt his knees gaving way under him. He had hoped Hiro couldn't remember, but he _did_. Hank grabbed him and put him on his feet again.

“Hiro –” Quire touched him lightly on the arm. Hiro shoved him away.

“And those men! Those... they used me. I thought they were saving me, but they used me.” He leaned forward and stared at the laptop for a while, jaws clenched.

“Hiro, I'm sorry.”

“What for? They're dead.” Hiro's face was set in a snarl. “They thought they could use me. They were _wrong,_ ” he said in a vicious tone.

Quire started and put a hand on his mouth, then relaxed on the couch. That tone didn't befit a child, but given what he had been through, it was to be expected.

“I...” started Quire, and then stopped, bit his lip, and resumed again. “I've been researching on Romulus, too.”

Hiro jerked and whipped his head, staring at Quire. Logan had pretty much the same reaction, and grabbed the console to steady himself.

_What? Where has he...?_

“He's worse than Daken,” Quire was saying, “There's no record of him _at all_ , but I managed to find –”

“Logan-san... says he's dead,” interrupted Hiro with a tremulous voice, “So there's no need. I don't want to know anything about him!”

“No, see, that's bullshit.” Quire held a finger up, “That's _bullshit._ You have to see him with your eyes, know for a certainty that he's _dead_ , not a big bad wolf coming to get you. Trust me?” He leaned very slowly towards the laptop, his eyes never leaving Hiro's. “Hiro?”

Hiro was trembling. The mere notion of Romulus made him shiver! How could Quire not care about that?

“He's good,” said Psylocke.

Logan spun towards her. “Are you serious?”

“I am. He gets him, on a level. He's good.”

“I agree, actually,” interjected Ororo.

Startled, Logan turned his attention to the screen. _I can't believe this._

Quire still hadn't moved, his gaze fixed on Hiro. “You _need_ to see this, Hiro. Trust me.”

Frozen on spot, Hiro moved slightly his head, nodding. He set his hands on his knees and sank deeper in the couch, his eyes transfixed on the screen.

“Ok, here we go...” Quire pressed something. Hiro shut his eyes, a grimace on his face, and then slowly opened one in a slit. He started, exhaled and widened both eyes, surging forward as he let out a strangled sound.

“His face...!”

“Yeah,” grimaced Quire, “It's not pretty. I _think_ Logan may have smashed his head –”

Suddenly Hiro laughed, a shrill, strange sound, almost hysteric. He put a hand on his mouth, strifling the laughter: Quire was looking at him, his eyes wide as plates.

“Uhm, are you all right?”

“Yes, I am perfectly fine, Quentin-san! Yokatta. Thank you! Oh, thank you.” He clasped together his hands, still staring at the screen. “What happened to him?”

Quire didn't seem to be convinced: he had furrowed his brows and was regarding Hiro with a questioning gaze. He shook himself and answered: “Uh, he was held in a super special secret prison called Raft. He escaped, but Logan went after him and –” he motioned towards the screen, “Well, it... must have been a brutal fight.”

It had been. Logan had decided to take no other risks and put him down for good. He had played nice the first two times, but Romulus had always managed to escape and he couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't live with the constant fear that he could turn up again! So he had killed him for good this time, assuring himself that he couldn't come back. Logan crossed his arms, looking at Hiro, trying to deconstruct his expression. He seemed relieved. Perhaps Quire had been right at least in this; Logan should have thought about it sooner and given actual proof to Hiro.

“So, you see, he's gone.” Quire said, “Gone for good. Don't you feel better?”

Hiro nodded, “He cannot touch me.”

“Yes, exactly. You know, I don't know if Daken knew he's dead. I wonder what he'll think about this. Do you think he'll be relieved?”

Hiro jerked his head and closed his eyes. “Stop.”

“No, look, _eventually_ y –”

“Yamete kudasai.” Hiro opened his eyes and looked at Quire, his left hand twitching. “You don't –”

Quire held his hands up, “I _think_ –”

“ _Yamete yo!_ ” Hiro snarled and stood up, which startled the assembled X-Men. What had set him off? Was he going to attack Quire? They couldn't make it in time! Sure, Quire should have been able to stop him, but –

No, Hiro was simply stalking away, jaws clenched, but Quire half-stood up and grabbed Hiro's hand. “Hey! You _promised_.”

Hiro did a double-take and froze, staring down at the hand Quire was grabbing. “Let go, Quentin-san. They will come out, I'll hurt you.”

“No you _won't_. You know why? Because _I trust you._ ” Quire grabbed the other hand. “Come on. You agreed to try something else.”

Hiro bit his lip. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't. Sit down, come on.”

Hiro complied, and Logan heard Ororo let out a shaky breath. He himself was shaking. Had Hiro been leaving to hurt himself?

“Ok, breathe,” was saying Quire, still holding Hiro's hands, “I was thinking that the pain is not important. You don't do it because you want to hurt, per se. You said you do it to clear your head.”

His eyes closed, Hiro nodded.

“Ok. So you need something to distract yourself. You have to focus on something _else_ , something mnemonic maybe, or... or you could write something. Or we could watch a movie, or you could read – I _bet_ you're reading all those books to distract, right? Are they good? Talk to me about the books you're reading. What do you like? Have you a favourite already?” he was babbling. This was, probably, a form of distraction in itself, to make Hiro focus on his voice. Logan leaned on the console, staring at the screen. It seemed to be working: Hiro relaxed slightly on the couch, breathing slowly. “I bet you haven't read _V for Vendetta_ yet? Well, it's not a book, it's a graphic novel. I can lend it to you, it's great. You know what a graphic novel is? It's like a novel and a manga combined... wait, you _do_ know manga, yes? They're japanese, images and text –”

Hiro opened his mouth and inhaled, his eyes still closed. Quire stopped and squeezed gently his hand.

“Yes?”

“Na – _Naniwa-zu ni_ –” chanted Hiro with a shaking voice, “ _Sakuya kono hana –_ ” he breathed in, then resumed, with a slightly firmer tone, “ _Fuyu-gomori – Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana_ –”

His voice had taken on the cadence, his face seemed more relaxed. The last syllable echoed in the lab, and Logan stood transfixed, watching his son perform the _tanka._ He had such a beautiful voice, perfectly controlled.

“What is it?” whispered Ororo, grabbing her upper arms. She seemed touched, too. But Logan didn't want to cover the poem with his voice.

Quire had gone slack, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide.

“ _Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana_ –” Hiro let the _tanka_ sink in the silence, then inhaled again, “ _Tare o kamo – Shiru hito ni semu –_ ” he suddenly gasped and tightened his hold on Quire's hand. “Ta – ta – Tare o –” he opened his eyes and gasped again, leaning forward, his face distorted in pain. “Do – Doushite?” he turned to look at Quire. “Doushite?”

“What...?” asked Hank, but both Logan and Betsy shushed him.

“Hiro, I don't understand Japanese –” was saying Quire.

“Why?” breathed out Hiro, “ _Why?_ Oh, oh...” he put his face in his hands – one of them still held by Quire – and sniffed. “He abandoned me. He left me, he left me! Why?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“My father!” spluttered Hiro, and just like that, he burst out crying, “Oh, oh, I... I – I – I –” he gasped for air, “He left me! I wasn't... worthy, was I? He preferred... to die... than stay with me! Akki!” he spat, viciously. He kept on crying.

Quire seemed at a loss: his free hand hovered for a moment near Hiro's head, then he bit his lip and encircled Hiro's shoulders, pulling him in an embrace.

“I... I should have... died!” Hiro chocked out between ugly, hoarse sobs, holding on to Quire, “He should have... he should have... he should have killed me!” he grabbed Quire's shoulder and hid his face on his chest, his sobs muffled by Quire's shirt. Quire looked down at him, patting gently his back, murmuring soothingly.

Logan recalled what Betsy had told him: there had been a moment, before Akihira had shot himself, when he had pointed the weapon at his son. When he had contemplated killing him. And Hiro... Hiro was holding on to that moment, deconstructing it till that frozen snippet was the only thing that made sense. Was he so miserable as to think death would be the best solution?

Hiro was crying in earnest now, a mess of limbs sprawled over Quire. The boy was keeping it together admirably, passing his hand in a circling, soothing caress over Hiro's back.

“It's all right. It's going to be all right... There, there...” he stopped a moment and whipped up his head, his eyes wide, looking at something they couldn't see, but then resumed caressing Hiro's back, moving his head as if to shoo away someone.

“Hank, zoom out,” requested Ororo, her voice thick with tears. Logan couldn't speak. He realized he was crying, too. Through the veil of tears he watched as Hank zoomed out the recording, showing the entire room Hiro and Quire were in. Quire was staring at a frozen Evan on the door, who in turn was staring at the two of them, eyes wide. Quire mouthed _go away!_ and Evan complied, backpedalling slowly and closing the door. Quire resumed speaking to Hiro.

“Sh, sh, it's all right.”

“This is good,” said Betsy, “This will be good to him. Let him get it out of his system. He must have held to this till today.”

Logan nodded, unable to speak. He wanted to join them and try and speak to Hiro, but didn't want to upset him either. Perhaps he should wait. He tried to reconstruct the scene in his head. Hiro had been triggered by the first part of the _tanka... None are left who know me._

_Oh, son._

Slowly, the sobs quieted. Hiro stayed where he were, though, grasping wildly Quire's shirt, his shoulders shaking now and then. Quire kept on stroking lightly his back, speaking softly. Soon, though, his features contorted in an embarrassed expression, and he began biting his lower lip and glancing around.

“Uh, Hiro,” he said eventually, and Hiro froze. “I don't want to upset you, but I –”

In a fluid motion, Hiro lifted himself and kissed him on the mouth. Quire started, grabbed Hiro by the shoulder and pushed him away, flushed. They stared at each other while Logan howled in the lab, “What the hell...?” He yanked his head to look at the others and saw Ororo frozen on spot; Betsy was watching the screen with a focused expression. Hank had removed his spectacles and was leaning over.

“What the...?” he repeated, and Betsy shushed him, holding up a hand, her brows furrowed.

“Wait, Logan, w–”

“Yes, Quentin-san, I noticed,” echoed Hiro's voice, suddenly cold and detached, and he lowered again his head to capture Quire's mouth in a kiss.

Logan groaned and put his head in his hands. What the hell was happening all of a sudden? “We need to stop it right now!”

“No, we need to wait,” Psylocke grabbed his arm, “And you need no watch this. I've never seen anything like this!” her eyebrows had shot up, but she didn't seem worried, rather scientifically interested. For a terrifying, long moment, Logan questioned her sanity.

“I don't doubt you haven't!” he managed to bark, “He's _ten_ , for God's sake!”

“It's not what it seems like. I'm with Hiro now. I admit it's worrying, but the _swiftness_ –”

“Hey!” Quire had managed to shove away Hiro again, “Woah, woah, slow down!” He placed a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“Don't you want this? You smell like you want this.” He lowered his head again and Quire jerked away, but there wasn't much space to move; he was trapped under Hiro.

“Smell?”

“Oh, yes. You can't fake your smell. And this.” he pressed himself on Quire's body and the latter groaned. “ _This_ wasn't here before.”

“God, I'm sorry. You're... uh... I'm sorry! You're very attractive!” Quire shut his eyes, “I didn't want to upset you! I'm a kinky asshole, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!”

“You don't need to be sorry, I understand.” Hiro nudged gently Quire's neck with his nose and _lapped_ it, dear God. “You want to go to your room?”

“ _No!_ Why are you doing this?” Quire pushed away Hiro.

“Because you want it, Quentin-san.”

“But you – you...! Oh, shit!” he groaned, “Oh, I'm going to hell.”

Logan stared at the screen, at Hiro's hand pressing gently and firmly Quire's chest. It reminded him of Daken's behavior and it was making him sick.

“I hope there's a reason for this shit, Braddock,” he exhaled. She didn't answer, her hand tightening its hold on his arm.

“So?” Hiro was asking, “Perhaps I want to know what it feels like. Or you're worried I don't know what to do? This body _knows_ ,” he planted a kiss on Quire's neck. Quire leaned on it, but jerked soon afterwards.

“No, this is _wrong_ , this is –”

“You didn't seem to think it was wrong. You smell very nice.”

“I... I can't control what my body does, but you _can't_ , oh God, ohGodwhathaveIdone I'm sorry, it's my fault, how could I –”

A terrifying thought hit Logan.

“Hank, is he... Is Hiro using his pheromones?”

“No, the sensor would have detected them by now.”

“No, Logan, this is entirely Quire's fault,” said Psylocke. “Listen and watch.”

“If you want to, let's do this.” Hiro was putting his hand on Quire's hip.

Quire jerked, “No, I don't want to.”

“ _Lies_.” Hiro snarled, “You are aroused.”

“I told you – _nghh_ – I can't, you're traumatised, it's wrong!”

“So you admit to it?”

“ _Yes! Yes_ , I am, but you're a child and this – is – _wrong!_ ” Quire pushed away Hiro, his shirt disheveled and still wet with Hiro's tears.

“Ah,” exhaled Hiro, and didn't move away from Quire, looming over him like a panther. His hair fell loose from the ponytail, the points brushing Quire's face. “I'm a child,” he repeated, and cocked his head, staring down at Quire with hard eyes. “That's it? You want to wait for _Daken_ , then? He'll thank you better.”

Quire started, “What? _What?_ ”

“You're so kind, Quentin-san. You want to _help_ me. So very kind,” he lowered his head again, tried to kiss him, but this time Quire grabbed him by the shoulders.

“ _You listen to me_ ,” he snarled, “I don't want sex in return! I'm not helping you because I want something from you, I'm helping you because I want to help you!” He stared up at him, “Do you _understand?_ I don't want anything! It was horrifying of me to have a hard-on while you were crying all over me, but that's my fault, a reaction my body had, and it doesn't mean, it abso-fucking-lutely _doesn't mean_ that I'm fishing for sex or that I will abuse you or that I want something in return from Daken!”

They stared at each other for a while, bodies tense, then Hiro snuggled slowly on Quire's chest.

“Good,” he said. He made no other move, sighing contentedly. Quire stared down at him, incredulous.

“Good?” he repeated weakly.

“Mh-mh. I had to make sure you didn't want to use me, Quentin-san.”

Quire let out a pitiful squeak.

“You weren't... you weren't going to...”

“Of course not.” Hiro closed his eyes.

“But if I had –”

“– abused me?” Hiro shifted a bit his position, “I sense Braddock-san. She kept screaming at me. She would have given you a... what did she say? A brain an.. an... aneurysm?”

“But how could you think I would do something like that to _you_ , why did you do it?” Quire asked. He seemed about to throw up.

“Because you were aroused, Quentin-san. I thought... I thought you were helping me for _that_. But I can trust you,” he shifted to look at Quire, a genuine smile on his face, “You're not like Logan-san, you don't want anything. You're my friend.” He rested his head on Quire's chest and closed his eyes. “I never had friends before.”

Gingerly, Quire embraced Hiro.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Quentin cursed, got to his feet and put himself between Hiro and the headmaster. “Hey, Hiro, it's ok. It's ok. I'm here. Want to eat with us?” He grabbed Hiro's meal. Hiro was speaking in Japanese, and the headmaster's eyes were getting wider and wider.
> 
>  **About the _tanka_**  
>  For your hearing pleasure, [here's the _tanka_ Hiro recites](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUiLTVF0VGE): _Naniwa-zu ni_. I thought you might like to hear it at the appropriate pace and have a near-death experience imagining Daken performing it :D  
>  _Tanka_ are a type of _waka_ , that is a type of classical poetry. _Tanka_ consist of five units with a 5-7-5-7-7 pattern of syllables.  
>  There are a number of collections, one of the most important is the _Ogura Hyakunin Isshu_ and this isn't the last time you'll hear of it...  
>  ;)


	11. Chapter 11

11.

“Tell me no more stories and I'll tell you no lies;

no one wants to hurt me, but everybody tries.

And if you think that I've been waiting for my planets to align

it's time you go on, get your things,

get up, get out, I'm doing fine.”

Emilie Autumn - _Rose Red_

 

Try as he might, Evan couldn't bring himself to speak to Hiro and he felt horrible about it. The boy had even apologised! He knew he wasn't Daken. He _knew_ , on an intellectual level. Oh, he had stuffed his mouth with nothing but kind words that first day, he had played the righteous, pious forgiver! But every damn time he found himself near him, he would think of those days with the Brotherhood, of Sabretooth, and uncle Cluster's corpse, and all that blood _everywhere_ , of Daken beating him senseless on the floor in front of the headmaster. Daken, cold, detached, and thorough.

He had been surprised to see Quentin take the reins and befriend him, since he had been so set on distrusting him from day one. If even _he_ had managed to let go... if Quentin, who had been so distrustful of Evan himself for months, had seen right through Hiro and was being mature about it... shouldn't he at least try? What was _wrong_ with him? He had been raised to be better than this, he knew better than to hold a grudge against someone.

And the other day... Evan sighed. If someone had told him, weeks before, that he would have found Daken... Hiro... crying over Quentin, he would have told them not to be ridiculous. _That_ had been a harsh, cold reminder that he was behaving selfishly and Hiro was only a boy. He was a boy and he didn't deserve to be hated for something he didn't even remember doing, and yet, and yet... God, those _eyes_. Those clear eyes. Those eyes told Evan _my father killed me, my father killed me and you're not telling me, why are you not telling me?_ Except that Daken had earned that, had _had_ to be stopped.

He sighed again.

“What's the matter?” asked Jia, and Evan shook out of his reverie and realised he had been staring at Quentin for some time now, his fork midway to his mouth. Quentin was watching him with an eyebrow raised.

Evan blushed and resumed eating. He swallowed, then answered. “Nothing.”

Quentin sighed mockingly, “Nothing,” he repeated, “Just that guilt is a harsh mistress, that's all.”

“I beg your pardon?” Evan stared at him. Had Quentin been reading his mind? The teachers had been very clear, they had told him not to talk about Daken's death.

“You've been staring at them since they arrived,” with his thumb, Quentin pointed behind him, at Hisako's and Hiro's table. “Do you want to invite them to join us?”

_Would you kill me to save him?_ Daken had asked. And then...

“– No. I... no.”

Quentin snorted and resumed eating. “See? Guilt.”

Jia huffed, “How's that guilt? He simply said _no_.”

“It's guilt because he made that awesome speech... let's see... a month ago... and yet he can't live up to it – to this very day. He realised he's only human.”

Jia bristled, “If you've got a problem –”

“I've got no problems with your _boyfriend_. I get it, he's scared of Daken. Too bad Daken isn't _here_.”

“Uh-uh, Daken's right _there._ ” Jia pointed at the other table. Evan saw Hiro stiffen; of course, he could hear them.

“Hiro,” he corrected her, “He's Hiro. Be considerate.”

“So kind of you!” Quentin huffed, “And yet you can't speak to him?”

“How's that a problem to _you?_ ”

“I'm trying to give him a full Jean Grey School experience! Rainbows, puppy dogs and sunshine.”

“What?”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “He's my friend, idiot. You know, that thing that sometimes happens when you give someone a chance? Weren't you the one who, quote, _believed_ , unquote, in second chances?” he made air quotes for emphasis.

“I did! I... I do. Just, not with me.”

“Oh! Convenient.”

“It's... complicated.” Evan shrugged.

“No doubt about it. He apologised, what more could you want?”

“Maybe he doesn't want to relive all that, you moron!” Jia hissed. Evan saw Hiro lower his head. He thought about warning Quentin, but he _was_ worried by his sudden interest.

“Evan is mature enough to know that his is a _normal_ reaction to what he went through but he should also know that Hiro would never harm him!”

“Why, thank you, Quentin. I was beginning to think you thought of me as an idiot.” Evan crossed his arms.

“Well, given that Hiro apologised –”

Evan sighed, “Excuse me if I can't stand being near him after what he did to me! It was _terrifying_. It was as if I was an _insect_ , as if it was simply a _chore!_ You can't understand...”

Quentin laughed: a dark, bitter sound. “You aren't the only one who got beaten, you know.”

Idie, Trevor and Broo, who had been talking, probably pretending not to listen, fell silent. Evan felt a shiver. Was Quentin implying...?

“ _What?_ When?” Jia asked.

“Why? You thought the Hellfire Academy was a holiday resort? A grand hotel?” Quentin continued eating, as if he weren't confessing to having been beaten. Evan glanced at Idie and Broo, who, after all, had been there with him. They were exchanging embarassed glances. Ah, so they knew. “So, you know, I _do_ understand.”

“This isn't a competition, Quentin.”

Quentin huffed. “I know that. I'm just saying... he... he _could_ have done a lot worse. And he _didn't_. And Hiro apologised, so I don't understand...”

“A lot _worse?_ ” Evan repeated, and laughed, feeling hysterical. “Like _what?_ ”, he spat.

Quentin bit his lip. “ _Nothing_. Whatever. Never change, Evan.” He moved away his plate, looking a little green.

“Quentin.” Evan wriggled his hands. “Weren't _you_ the one who didn't trust him? What changed?”

“I saw the bigger picture. I didn't stop at the appearances. Unlike all of you. Well, Broo excluded. Hey, Broo. How's it going?” Quentin turned his head to the alien.

Broo glared at his own plate, filled with meat. He had yet to start eating. “Fine. I'm fine.”

“You should eat, Broo,” continued Quentin.

“Yes, I... I know.” Broo kept on playing with his fork. Evan couldn't recall when exactly Quentin had started behaving like a responsible big brother, but it was worrying.

“Uh... look, Quentin...” Trevor leaned over the table, lowering his head and his voice, “Do you feel _funny_ when you're near Hiro?”

“Excuse me?”

“I... I mean... Are you sure it's not... you know... _pheromones?_ ”

Evan started. Of course! That explained everything!

Quentin stared down Trevor – a feat, given all those eyes he had. “You utter _idiot_ ,” he spat.

“Hey!” Trevor straightened himself. “It's a perfectly legitimate question!”

“It's not, you moron, you imbecile, you _cretin!_ ” Quentin hissed, cold. His eyes were very cold, too. “Do you think they left us without defences? There are _sensors_ all over the fucking school. And Hiro's right behind us and you say the ugliest bullshit I've ever heard?”

Evan glanced at Hiro – he was sitting very rigidly. Hisako had moved slightly to look at their table, and was watching them, a furrow on her brows.

“Quentin,” said Idie, “We are worried about you! Are you sure he's not manipulating y –”

Quentin set his hands on the table. “ _Thank you_ , Idie, but there's no need to worry. Hiro is my friend. If you knew what I know, you'd be hiding your heads in shame. _All_ of you.”

“If we knew what you know...?” Evan repeated. “What do you mean?”

Quentin opened his mouth –

“Father!” Hiro's shrill voice startled them. Evan saw that the headmaster stood at Hisako's and Hiro's table and was talking to them.

Quentin shut his mouth and shook his head, eyes closed. He sighed. “Sorry. I wasn't going to,” he said. Evan didn't think he was talking to them.

Hisako got up and gathered all her things and her meal; the headmaster sat at her place, across Hiro, and started talking.

Hisako glanced around, then seemed to take a decision and joined their table. “Can I? Yes? Good.” She sat in the place next to Quentin, a big, absolutely fake smile on her face. “ _What the hell_ were you talking about?”, she hissed. She turned her head to Quentin, “His hands were _shaking_.”

Quentin groaned, “They're idiots.”

Evan looked at the two of them. Weren't they on a we-are-not-speaking-we-are-barely-civil terms since that so called accident with the headmaster?

He wasn't the only one with the same doubt. Idie was staring at them, too, and she said: “Are you two speaking again?”

“Uh-uh,” Hisako cut her meat. “So? What the hell were they saying, Quire?”

“They were saying bullshit. Absolute, total, utter bullshit. I know that and you know that, right?”

Again, Evan had the distinct impression that he wasn't talking to them, but Hiro. And he got his confirmation when he glanced at Hiro midsentence and saw him relax visibly while Quentin talked.

Hisako took a bite. “What exactly were they saying?”

“Told you. Bullshit.”

“We are simply worried about Quentin,” said Idie, “Since Hiro manipulates pheromones...”

“Nice.” Hisako chewed slowly and swallowed, “ _Really_ nice. Classy. Hiro also has a good hearing, he's ten, and has got no one. Had you forgot about it?” She pointed her fork at Idie. “Quire, I abhor you, but you're right. They're idiots.”

“Always nice to make an impression!” Quentin grinned. “I knew you liked me.”

“Don't _push_ it. I'm in on this for Hiro.”

“But of course. You feel tremendously _guilty_ for not noticing.”

Hisako grimaced.

“So, uh –” Trevor lowered his voice. “So it's true? Hiro _cuts himself?_ ”

Both Quentin and Hisako started; Evan froze.

“ _What?_ ” he asked. He glanced around; Broo didn't seem terribly surprised, rather resigned and ashamed. Idie had both her hands on her mouth. Hiro didn't seem to have noticed, because he was talking to the headmaster, harsh Japanese slowly rising in volume. It seemed a heated discussion.

Quentin stared at Trevor, “Now, how do you _know_ that?”

“Lip reading, duh.”

“Not that this is any of your business,” spat Hisako, “But yes. He's delicate right now. He's been through hell –” Evan saw Quentin shut his eyes and grimace, “So –”

The headmaster said something a bit louder and Hisako started and widened her eyes. “Nani?” she said, and whipped her head towards Quentin. She looked him up and down.

“What?” Quentin said, “I told you, Hisako, it's not your fault!”

Hisako exhaled a strange noise; she let her mouth open. She didn't answer; it was obvious she was listening in on Hiro and the headmaster, who were raising their voices.

Evan wanted to know, though. “No, wait a moment. Hiro cuts himself? Why?”

With a worried glance at Hisako, Quentin opened his mouth to speak, and at that exact moment, Hiro burst to his feet, shouting, “At least he doesn't _lie_ to me!”

Silence fell in the room. A couple of teachers had stood up from their tables and were staring at the headmaster and Hiro.

The headmaster got to his feet, too, and moved as if to touch Hiro's arm.

“Sawaranaide!” Hiro jerked his arm away and took a step backwards.

“Daken...!” the headmaster said, and then widened his eyes, realising what he had said.

Quentin was frozen on his chair. “You've got to be fucking kidding me. Tell me he didn't...”

“ _Watashi_ kara doo itta mono wo nozonde imasuka?” Hiro said, voice shriller with every syllable.

“Hiro...” the headmaster started walking towards him, but Hiro shot up his arms.

“ _Don't touch me!_ ” he screamed, “Do not touch me, do not _touch_ me, do not touch me, do not, do _not_...”

Quentin cursed, got to his feet and put himself between Hiro and the headmaster. “Hey, Hiro, it's ok. It's ok. I'm here. Want to eat with us?” He grabbed Hiro's meal. Hiro was speaking in Japanese, and the headmaster's eyes were getting wider and wider.

“Yeah, what he said,” spat Quentin, “You heard him, prof. Get lost!”

It was a statement to the headmaster state of shock that he didn't react to Quentin's blatant disrespect. Instead, he just stood there frozen, staring at Hiro for a long moment and then shook himself, noticed that everyone was staring at them and walked slowly away. Professor Munroe went after him.

Quentin spun on his feet, “Come, Hiro!” he said cheerfully. He froze when he noticed that the only vacant chair was next to Evan. They stared at each other. Hiro turned... and Evan felt his stomach turn upside down, because that face was contracted in a mask of absolute pain. Hiro noticed the vacant spot, too.

“Evan-san,” he exhaled and seemed to be trying to smooth his features. “Can I sit at your table?” He cast his eyes down.

_He's not Daken. He's not Daken, he's not Daken, he's not Daken..._

“Sure!” he forced himself to say. Hiro whipped his head up and smiled esitantly. Quentin put his meal on the table and went to sit on his own spot. Hiro slowly approached the chair and sat, careful not to touch Evan.

“Thank you, Evan-san.”

“You're welcome.” Gingerly, Evan picked his fork and knife. For a while, nobody spoke. Then, slowly, the room filled again with conversations; they all resumed eating.

Quentin wasn't, though, nor Hiro.

“Are you...” said Quentin after a few moments, “Are you ok?”

“No. I am...” Hiro's hands were shaking. “I am a lie father tells himself.”

“I'm sure he only got carried away,” said Quentin, “I guess he and Daken had countless shouting matches.”

“Yes. Perhaps.” Hiro hugged himself. “He was upset. Do you know they spied on us? There are... ah... cameras? Everywhere. He was angry because we kissed –”

A sound of a fork clanging on a plate; they all stopped eating and stared at Quentin, who was white as a sheet.

“Uh, Hiro –”

“– I tried to explain to him, but he didn't want to listen! I'm sure Braddock-san explained –”

“Time out?” Trevor waved wildly his hands and Hiro stopped talking. “You what when _why?_ ”

“I'm sure it was a kiss on the cheek –” said Hisako forcefully.

“No, no, on the mouth!” Hiro said, bless his naiveté, “And I told him –”

Quentin was slowly sliding down his chair, eyes wide, a blush suffusing his cheeks.

Idie shot on her feet, reached across the table and slapped him. “Quentin Quire, you disgusting, degenerate pedophile!” she snapped, and grabbed her food. “I'll pray for your soul.” She left their table, walking very stiffly.

“ _Idie...!_ It's not what it seems like!”

Hiro followed her march with his gaze, confusion on his face. “Is she angry because she likes you?”

Quentin groaned and banged his head on the table. “What is my life? Leave me here to die.”

Trevor poked Quentin's arm. “Uhm, so... Are you bi? And also a _pedo?_ ”

“It's not like that! Hiro, dammit...!”

Hiro blinked. “What?”

“You can't say we kissed like that!”

“But we did!”

Evan decided to intervene, “I'm sure there's been a misunderstanding...” he coughed, “It was an accident, right?”

“Oh, no! It was intentional!” Hiro seemed genuinely surprised by their reactions. “Oh! _That's_ what you meant when you said it was wrong! I thought...” he sniffed and cocked his head to the side, “What does that word mean? That word she said? It comes from Greek, does it not? Love... and pedo? Pedo...?”

Quentin raised his head from the table. “You know _Greek?_ ”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I taught myself. So, pedo is... is...” he drummed his fingers on the table, “... _paîs?_ ”

“You _taught yourself_ Greek? When?”

“Oh, months ago. I mean, before. Before _before_. Nihon... In Japan.” He clenched his left hand. “ _Come on_ , Quentin-san, what does it mean?”, he whined.

Quentin straightened himself and exhaled softly, then reached out for Hiro's hand.

“Hiro,” he began, “A pedophile is an adult that has sex with children,” he said, eyes never leaving Hiro's.

Hiro stiffened. “ _Oh_.”

He extricated his hand from Quentin's grasp, grabbed the fork and stabbed the meat on his plate. They all jumped at the sound of the fork grating the plate. “Pedophile.” He sniffed and started cutting the meat with his knife in violent strokes. Evan wasn't sure on what was happening, but Hiro didn't seem to be angry with Quentin, at least. Evan looked at Quentin: he was watching Hiro with a worried look.

“Hiro –” began Quentin, but he was interrupted.

“Oh! So, she is angry because she thinks you are?” Hiro said lightly. It seemed as if he were solving a puzzle. “He's not!” Hiro waved his fork, “He's my friend. He cares about me. I kissed him to prove a point, because he was aroused –”

Again Quentin's head smacked the table. “This is _not_ helping!”

“– and he said that it wasn't right and that he wouldn't use me. He's my friend and he cares about me and he's not like –” he gritted his teeth, “– like that. He's not like that.” He reached out for Quentin's hand. “He is a good person. You are a good person, Quentin-san.”

Quentin squeezed Hiro's hand. “I will never apologise enough for that, Hiro.”

Hiro shrugged. “Thank you. For... for before.”

“Don't mention it.”

For a while no one dared speak. It was obvious there was a sort of established routine, an implicit trust Hiro placed on Quentin. Not for the first time, Evan wondered what could have happened to bind them so close, what Quentin could have seen to reverse his attitude like that. Now that he thought about it, he felt guilty at having, albeit for a brief moment, considered the pheromones as a reason for the unlikely friendship. It was obvious Hiro was in pain; he just couldn't wrap his head around the idea of an empathic Quentin.

“You're still angry, Quentin-san.” Hiro broke the silence.

“ _Yep_.”

“But I don't understand, you don't _have_ to be angry on my behalf, they're your friends, they were worried about you.”

Quentin huffed. “Nope. They were being assholes.” Hisako nodded in agreement.

“Hey!” Trevor held up his hands. “Now, wait a moment. I'm sorry I put it that way. Hiro, really, I'm sorry. It was a legitimate doubt, though.”

“Are you quite _finished?_ ” snarled Quentin, but Hiro put a hand over his and looked at Trevor across the table.

“Yes, I know, Trevor-san. I'm not angry with you. I was worried, too.”

Quentin looked at Hiro as if he had grown a second head. “ _What?_ ”

“I was worried, too,” repeated Hiro, very calmly, his gaze again on Quentin. He clenched and unclenched his free hand. “Yes, now I know it's not true, but I realised something the other day. She was right.”

“You're not a demon –” said Quentin. What were they referring to?

“Yes, I know that. But she was right. I _had_ brought a curse. She was happy when I was happy and she was angry when I was angry and _I_ drove her mad. I'll never know if she could have loved me. But she ended up hating me,” he shrugged, his voice very little. “I'll always hate her. But it was my fault. So when you... when you...” his hands were shacking. “I thought I was influencing you, too. Because you wanted to be my friend. I... spent days thinking... that it couldn't _possibly_ be you, not... So the other day when you... when you were... I... I tested me as much as I was testing you. If you had followed... that would have meant that I was influencing you, that you weren't my friend, not really.”

“You said you were worried that I had something else in mind,” said Quentin quietly.

“Yes, that too. Either way... either way, that would have meant that you weren't my friend.”

Quentin opened his mouth a couple of times, but seemed unable to reply. What could one tell to something like that? Evan shivered. It was deeply sad and disturbing.

Unexpectedly, it was Broo who broke the uncomfortable silence.

“You weren't worried about me, I hope? You knew I am resistant to the pheromones.”

“No.” Hiro smiled, “No, I wasn't worried. I meant what I said: you have been very helpful. In many ways.”

Broo wriggled his hands. “Nevertheless. I should have... I should have talked sooner. Your nightmares... they seemed – _seem_ –”

“It matters not.” Hiro folded his hands on the table and looked straight at Broo. Evan saw that Quentin was watching the interaction closely. “You were protecting yourself, were you not? I understand that. I do not fault you. I do the same. And I have help now, for the nightmares. Quentin-san helps me.”

“Not the teachers?” asked Trevor.

“They can't help. I do talk with them, yes. But Quentin-san has _seen._ He understands like they can't.”

Quentin bit his lip and put his closed fist near his mouth. He seemed about to say something, but apparently decided against it.

“What has he seen?” asked Evan. He had wondered about it: everyone had, that day. Quentin had fallen on the ground and started vomiting, Hiro had jerked awake and stared at them with wide, terrified eyes before bolting away.

Hiro didn't answer right away: his gaze glossed briefly over Quentin, who nodded with a tiny, supportive smile, then stopped on Evan.

“The accident,” Hiro answered.

Quentin closed his eyes and sighed. Evan's gaze flickered between the two of them, sensing something was amiss.

“What accident?” he asked quietly, his gaze again on Hiro.

“The accident. The day my... my father... she... the family with which I lived. The day they died. I killed her.” The statement fell on stunned silence. Evan widened his eyes. “It was an _accident!_ ”

“It was.” said Quentin, looking at each of them in turn with a glare in his eyes. “I saw it, it _was_.”

“Hey, we believe you,” said Trevor, hands up. He wouldn't have been the first to accidentally harm someone on the wake of his mutant powers: the school was full of similar stories, Evan had heard them countless times. It was unsettling to think that _Daken_ had had so harsh a wake-up call, that he had been a terrified child, like so many of them.

“I think...” Hiro lowered his head and stared at the back of his hands. “I think that is the day Daken was born. They say he probably went to live with... with... with _him_ , afterwards.”

“Him?” Evan didn't know why, but he felt terrified, chilled to the bone. He felt a shin of sweat forming on the back of his neck.

“A person that brought Daken up, according to Logan-san.” Hiro said. Hisako was nodding; probably the headmaster had told her. Quentin was looking at Hiro, his gaze unreadable. “His name... he said his name was... was...” Hiro didn't seem to be able to finish the sentence; his hands were shaking. With a start, Evan realised _he_ was shaking, too. Pheromones? He was close enough. He looked at Quentin for a clue on what to do.

Quentin sighed, exchanged a glance with Hisako, who nodded, and took Hiro's hands in his.

“Hey,” he said, very quietly. “We were thinking... Hisako and I, we were thinking... Do you want to play karuta?”

The trembling stopped. Apparently startled, Hiro whipped his head up. “ _Karuta?_ ” he said.

“Uta-garuta –” interjected Hisako.

“I know what it is. How... Why...?” Hiro kept moving his head from Quentin to Hisako and back again.

“Ok, explanations,” Quentin straightened himself, “I asked Hisako about those poems you say... and she recognised them. She said they come from a collection –”

“ _Hyakunin Isshu_ ,” she interrupted him.

“Yep, that. And she said they are used in that game. And so we thought that perhaps you knew the game, too –”

“– and since Quire said the poems help you, I thought that perhaps playing would, too.” Hisako smiled.

Hiro seemed at a loss for words, his mouth slightly open, his eyes suspiciously glassy.

“You...” he shook himself, “You don't know how to play.”

“No, I don't, but Hisako here does.” Quentin inclined his head towards Hisako. “You aren't angry because I told her, I hope?”

Hiro didn't answer and looked at Hisako. “You _play?_ ”

“I used to be in the karuta club, at school.”

“ _Club?_ ”

“It's a national sport, now,” she smiled. “So, do you want to play?”

Hiro was trembling slightly. “We... we lack a reader.”

“Hey, what am I here for?” Quentin grinned. “I have all the poems transcribed, and I spent the last week practicing my reading. I've seen _tons_ of videos.”

That seemed the proverbial last straw and Hiro sobbed suddenly, a hand coming right away to his mouth. “You... you...” he closed his eyes and breathed quietly for a few moments. “You asked senpai's help and _practiced_ and... and went to all that trouble... for... for me?”

“No trouble at all.” Quentin reached for Hiro's hand. “Hey, hey. I wanted to surprise you, not upset you!”

“I'm not... upset, I... No one has never. Never,” he shook his head. He inhaled. “Yes, I would be honored to play, senpai.”

“Good! Do you want to play now?” Hisako was already moving her chair away from the table, a reassuring smile on her lips.

“You're still eating –”

Hisako waved her hand. “Nonsense. Do you _need_ it now?”

Hiro didn't answer.

“It's either that or... or that other thing, am I right? I will _not_ let you hurt yourself anymore. It's too bad that I didn't notice!”

“But I _hid_ –”

“Hiro.” Hisako reached for Hiro's hands, but he retreated them from the table, folding them on his lap. Ah, so it was something that only Quentin could do? Strange. Hisako seemed surprised, but she didn't let that stop her. “Look. I was supposed to notice. I am the adult and you were suffering and _I didn't notice_. I'm not _worthy_ of being called senpai. _Please_ , allow me to apologise.”

Hiro wriggled his hands a bit. “Doushite...?” Evan heard him whisper. A bit louder, he said: “All right then, senpai. I'll play now, if you will. And if Quentin-san is willing, too.”

“Good!” with a smile, Hisako stood up and Quentin soon followed. “Hey, you want to join us?” she asked them. Broo jumped at the opportunity and was on his feet in a matter of seconds, his meal forgotten. Hiro stood up. Evan glanced up at him: he seemed overwhelmed and incredulous, almost frail and on the verge of tears, so different from Daken.

Jia squeezed his hand and Evan turned to face her. “What do you want to do, Evan?”

“I...” _A child. I owe him at least this. I'm keeping secrets from him. I owe him to look past his looks!_ “I'll go. It's time to stop being selfish.”

“No one would fault you, Evan.” Jia glared at Quentin.

“No, I would.”

“Well, then I'm going, too,” Trevor stuffed his mouth with food and stood up.

They followed Hisako out of the dining hall; Hiro walked near Quentin. Were they talking? They had distanced themselves from them, walking a few meters ahead.

“So, this game?” asked Broo after a while, always the scholar.

Hisako launched herself on a complicated explanation. Karuta was a card game, in which two players positioned on the ground a number of cards, on which poems were written, and had to recognise as soon as possible the poems which got read and take the cards. The poem themselves came from an ancient collection.

“Seems... uh...” began Trevor.

“It's _loads_ of fun!” Hisako interrupted him, sticking her tongue out at him. “And I think you will love it, Trevor! Competitive players are _fast_. It's very difficult to see their movements, they take the cards at an amazing speed! But you shouldn't have problems seeing it.”

“Karuta –” said Hiro, turning to look at them, walking backwards, “– favors memory, good hearing and reflexes. How are your reflexes, senpai?”

“Oh, I'm an amateur! I hardly manage to beat my opponents.”

“But I'm already at an advantage, senpai! My hearing is better than yours!”

“It doesn't matter. Don't worry.”

“I'll take the cards at a slower speed then!”, he said, and turned again to talk with Quentin.

Hisako snorted. “I didn't know he could be so cheerful.” She sobered. “I'm an idiot. God.”

“This cutting thing that you said,” whispered Evan. “Hisako, what is it?”

She closed her eyes and stopped walking. “God. It has been going on _since Hiro arrived_. And I didn't notice! I was always with him, always... you know when he went to the toilet or... or in his room? Turns out he... he...” she passed a hand over her eyes and resumed walking. “If Quire hadn't found him. I know it would have gone on and _on and on_. Professor McCoy says that he would have talked, eventually, but I think that he _wouldn't have_. And Quire thinks that, too. You've seen how he is? Always so quiet. I should have _noticed_.”

“It wasn't your fault, Hisako,” said Broo, adjusting his glasses on his nose, “In fact, if you wish to blame someone, blame it on me. I knew he wasn't sleeping –”

“You'd think that the _teachers_ should have noticed,” said Trevor, dry. “I don't think you should do this to yourself, guys. I don't think you should take the blame for something _adults_ should have taken care of.”

“But –”

“Trevor's right,” spoke up Jia, “This is pointless. Now he's better, right?”

“I don't think he's _better_ ,” Broo wriggled nervously his hands, “I mean, he still has nightmares. But now he has Quentin –”

“This is so _strange_. Quentin Quire, psychotherapist extraordinaire.”

They walked in silence for a while. Evan was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. Could it be that he was dreaming his death? But the teachers would have known, right? They would have solved it.

“What kind of dreams does he have?”

“Uh...” Hisako slowed her pace and they adjusted theirs, too, “From what I've gathered, it's a whole range of bad things. The accident, as he calls it... and then the tomb –”

“What tomb?” asked Jia. Evan felt he couldn't speak. What tomb? Could it be that the headmaster had –

“He woke up in a tomb. We still don't know how much time he spent in there, but it can't have been pretty. And then... oh, I don't know if I should say this, but if you knew it would be much easier to watch your words...!” She glanced ahead, at Quentin and Hiro, probably trying to determine if they were far enough. She sighed and went on: “Hiro has spent the weeks before arriving here in the hands of criminals. The teachers assume they knew Daken... but Hiro didn't remember a thing, so they used him in clandestine fights. Clandestine dog fights. They had _him_ fight against _dogs_. A _multitude_ at a time, Quire showed me the videos, it was _brutal_.” She put a hand on her mouth.

“Jesus,” exhaled Trevor. Evan stopped walking. He didn't know this, they _hadn't told him_ this. _He has just been through a really tough period_ , they had said. What a polite way of putting it! No wonder he was so traumatised. What were the teachers thinking? They should have known, they should have done something, no one should have been left alone after having lived through something like that, let alone a child!

“That's _horrible_ ,” he said. “What can we –”

“ _Yamete_ ,” came a snarl from ahead of them. Hiro spun around, turning to face them. “Don't. Don't you _dare._ I can understand them,” he walked towards them, eyes on Evan; Quentin trailed behind, a confused look on his face. “I am confused, but I can understand them. But _you_. Don't you _dare._ Don't you dare forgive your abuser! _Don't you dare_. I hurt you. I _hurt_ you!”

_He doesn't understand empathy_ , thought Evan, with a sudden clarity.

“You didn't hurt me. Daken did. I'm not forgiving Daken. I'm sorry for you. That's different.”

“We're one and the same. If you're sorry because I was hurt, you should be sorry because he was, too. But that doesn't excuse what he did to you!”

“You're not the same. Daken is a criminal –”

“ _When he'll come back_.” He had reached them. He had a crazed, outraged look, “When he'll come back, you'll look at him and see me? Don't you dare. I won't forgive you. I won't ever forgive you!”

“I –”

“Swear to me!” He loomed closer, and Evan recalled when Daken had, as he was about to hit him, and a wave of panic hit him, but stood his ground.

“You are _not_ Daken. And we will deal with the rest when it's time. For now, you are you –”

Hiro _laughed_ , and it was ugly and bitter. “You don't _understand_. I don't _want_ to be here. I'm a _prisoner_ here, a boy with the face of a man, a man without a past. I've lost _fifty years_ of my life. Fifty years of... whatever he's been through, all those... experiences he had. If I had the chance to regain my memories _now_ , I would take it. Because I can't go on like this anymore. I can't. It's too much for me.” He lowered his head. “I want Daken to come back, so that I can go away, be a distant memory in his distant past. The child he was, many, many, many years ago, untouched by his later life. Untouched by all of this, _untouched_...” he shivered and grabbed Quentin's hand, closing his eyes. “Quentin-san.”

“Here.” Quentin squeezed reassuringly Hiro's hand. “Hisako, where can we play, then?”

It seemed a clue for stop-talking-right-now-Hiro-is-about-to-have-a-fit, so Hisako shook herself and resumed walking. Hiro and Quentin turned and followed her, Hiro still clutching at Quentin's hand.

“Jesus,” said Trevor. “He's really fucked up big time, isn't he?”

The four of them stayed a bit behind. Evan hugged himself, shaken. He hadn't known, or maybe he hadn't _wanted_ to know, that the memory loss was affecting Hiro so badly. He had assumed he were fine, sort of. He had assumed he were happy with the arrengement, fine with their company. Instead he seemed on the verge of breaking. _I have to trust the teachers to know what they're doing. If professor Braddock were sure that telling him would wake him up, she would, right? She said she doesn't want to hurt him. Think about it for a moment, if it doesn't work he'll be more traumatised than ever. I can't tell him._

_But why do I feel so guilty?_

Ahead of them, the trio was entering a room. They followed: it was one of the larger lounges, the one wherein Evan had found Hiro crying. Hisako was stamping her feet on the wooden pavement.

“It's not a tatami, but it will have to do. So, you,” she turned to them, “You can sit and be quiet during the game. I mean it, silence is of the utmost importance.”

“I know the rules, Hisako,” said Jia. She sat on a couch; he followed. Broo and Trevor sat on another.

Hisako snatched open her sack and brought out a deck of cards. Quentin was moving the furniture with his telekinesis, clearing a big space in the center of the room. Hiro stood at the edges, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“So, uh, Hiro,” said Broo. “This game seems extremely fascinating. Did you play a lot at home?”

_Good, Broo. Make him talk_. Evan agreed internally with the alien. Distract him seemed a good tactic.

Hiro snorted, as if Broo had just made an extremely amusing joke. “Not much. It was a game for the adults: _she_ played with other ladies. Sometimes children were allowed to watch.” His features softened. “Father used to read the cards. The ladies loved it, he had a very distinctive, deep voice. He was born to perform.” He was watching wistfully out of the window, so he didn't notice Quentin had stopped what he was doing and was staring at him, a sort of comprehension dawning in his eyes. “This one time I was permitted to play: a lady had noticed me swinging on time with the reading. I won, of course. That led to them allowing me to play, once in a while, but not too much, because I always won. They said I was cheating, that I already knew which cards father would have read.” He grimaced. “Instead, it was just my enhanced hearing, apparently. Father stopped reading...” he scratched his knuckles. “They didn't appreciate beauty.” He shook himself and saw the clearing. “Oh, that's perfect, Quentin-san.”

Hisako went at the center and knelt on the ground; Hiro followed her, kneeling in front of her, then Hisako put the deck on the pavement. They mixed the cards, and then began placing them in front of them. In the midst of all of this, suddenly Hiro froze and stared at the cards he was placing.

“What is it?” asked Hisako. Quentin looked up from his seat, where he was mixing pieces of paper on his lap.

“He doesn't play,” muttered Hiro. “He doesn't _play_ ,” he repeated, louder. “Look at that,” he pointed at his cards. “If he played, I would have sat _further_ from you.” Suddenly, he leaned forward, sweeping his right arm in a wide arc. He stopped right before hitting her. “See? I'm too close. I would hit my opponent. He doesn't play. I would sit better if he did.” He moved a bit backwards; he tried again the swipe. “Oh, that's better. Much better.” He resumed placing the cards.

The placing resulted in six rows of fifty cards, half of the deck: twenty-five on each side. Then, they simply sat staring at the cards, not moving at all.

After a few minutes of silence, Trevor fidgetted. “What are they doing?”

“Memorizing the position of the cards,” said Quentin, without taking his eyes away from his pieces of paper.

“Jeez.”

“If you want to go away, do it before we start, please,” asked Hiro.

“Oh, no, now I'm too curious.”

“If someone enters, tell them to be _silent_ ,” huffed Hisako.

“Yes, yes...” Trevor sank deeper in the couch.

Some time later, they stirred and Hisako nodded at Quentin.

“Ok, people, I'm new at this, sorry if I fuck something up...” Quentin straightened himself and inhaled. “ _Naniwa-zu ni_ –” he chanted, “– _Sakuya kono hana – Fuyu-gomori – Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana..._ ” Hiro and Hisako didn't move; they were breathing very quietly, subtly adjusting their stances, their hands on the floor, their eyes on the cards. “ _Ima wo haru-be to_ –” Quentin picked up a piece of paper, “– _Sakuya kono hana..._ ” he inhaled and began reading:

“ _Aki – fuck!_ ”

It had been tremendously fast: Hiro had spun forward, lowering his torso, his arm swept across the card field, into Hisako's half of the field, and his index and middle finger where already on a card. Hisako's hand had stilled halfway through.

Hiro didn't move. “You _cannot_ interrupt the reading, Quentin-san. It's very rude.”

“Gosh.” Quentin stared at them, eyes wide. He wasn't the only one.

“Was it _Aki no ta no?_ ”

“Uh... yes...”

“Resume reading, then.”

Quentin complied, still wide-eyed. “ _Aki no ta no – Kari ho no iho no..._ ” as he read, Hiro picked the card he had touched from the ground and put it at his side. Trevor was very still, most of his eyes concentrated on the cards. Broo had adjusted his glasses on his nose and was leaning forward. Evan himself was shocked by the speed at which Hiro and Hisako had moved. He glanced at Jia: she didn't seem impressed at all. So, that speed had been normal? “ _Toma wo arami – Waga koromode wa –_ ” Quentin picked another piece of paper while he was still reading the first one, “ _tsuyu ni nure-tsutsu..._ ” he inhaled –

“ _Tsukuba ne no – mine yori otsuru –_ ” he didn't stop this time, though he faltered. This card, too, was taken by Hiro in less than a second. And the one after that, and the one after that, too. It became clear very soon that Hisako didn't stand a chance. She was fast, very fast – she did manage to take some cards, and Evan was shocked she had said she was an amateur – but Hiro was faster, his arm bolting across the field and hitting the cards with precision.

Some time during the game, others students began appearing, perhaps alerted by the echo of Quentin's voice, which rang clearly in the big room, or by the noise the hands of Hiro and Hisako made when hitting the wood. At the beginning Broo and Jia had contented themselves with simply making shushing gestures, but then Jia wrote carefully on a sheet “ _japanese game. SILENCE, PLEASE!_ ” and took it out whenever someone entered. Some students stayed in the room, intrigued.

Hisako, Hiro and Quentin were in another world. They didn't aknowledge at all their audience, the first two focused on the field with an intensity almost painful to watch, and Quentin intent on reading the poems one after the other, not a pause allowed, apparently.

Then the teachers appeared, too. Professor Braddock, professor Rachel, professor Drake, professor LeBeau... the headmaster appeared when a card was beginning to be read and Hisako took that, because Hiro had reacted slower than usual. The headmaster stood on the door transfixed, wide eyes fixated on Hiro.

More than half an hour had passed when Hiro's half of the field finally emptied. As Quentin finished reading the poem, Hisako and Hiro bowed to each other and then to Quentin, saying both times: “Arigatou gozaimashita.”

They faced each other again and began reorganizing the cards in the deck. No one dared utter a word for a while, till Quentin huffed and waved his hands. “People, it's over, you can talk.”

Chatter exploded then.

“Woah!”

“What was it?”

“What are the rules? It seems interesting!”

“Hey, who won?”

Without raising her head, Hisako pointed at Hiro.

“It was so _intense!_ ”

“What's it called?”

“My god, they were so _quick!_ ”

“Father,” said Hiro suddenly. He didn't turn to face the headmaster: he carried on helping Hisako with the cards. “Do you know the game?”

Everyone stopped talking. Evan squirmed on the couch to turn and look at the headmaster, who was very pale.

“Hiro,” he said, and took a step forward, “I'm sorry for before –”

“Do you know the game?” Hiro repeated. He didn't move. “I am quite certain that Daken doesn't play.” He waited, hands on his thighs. It was obvious it was a peace offering of some kind.

“... yes,” exhaled the headmaster, but didn't move. “I know it. Listen, I –”

“Come, then,” he was interrupted by Hiro, “Sit. Let us play.”

“I...” professor Rachel hit him on the side, and then pushed him forward. “All right, all right.” The headmaster navigated around the furniture and the students and approached the field.

Hisako shot on her feet, making space for him. “I'll read, then. Your pronunciation was terrifying, Quire!”

“It was more than adequate, Quentin-san!” Hiro turned towards Quentin and smiled at him. “Thank you!”

Quentin grinned at him, before standing up and leaving the post to Hisako. He stuck his tongue out at her.

The headmaster knelt in front of Hiro; they began positioning the cards on the field.

“Don't hold back, father,” said Hiro. The headmaster jerked at that, and Evan could guess why. “I won't. I will slay you.”

“Oh, this is going to be _interesting_ ,” whispered Julian from his post near Evan. He was grinning maniacally.

“You're sick,” whispered back Evan. Of course, none of them knew. All they saw was a healthy rivalry before a game, and it _was_ , on Hiro's part; but probably the headmaster was recalling more disturbing instances. Quentin went to stay behind Evan's couch, leaning on its back with his elbows. When Hiro and the headmaster had positioned their cards and finished memorizing their positions, Hisako cleared her voice and reminded everyone not to utter a word. She then inhaled and began.

“ _Naniwa-zu ni_ –” she chanted, “– _Sakuya kono hana – Fuyu-gomori – Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana... Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana..._ ” Well, her voce was certainly more clear and sure than Quentin's.

She picked a sheet and read, “ _Yura no to wo – wataru funabito – kaji no tae_ –”

How she managed not to jump on her seat was a mystery to Evan, because as soon as she had _opened her mouth_ Hiro's arm was already on the headmaster's field, his fingers hitting a card. The headmaster's hand almost collided with Hiro's, but he threw his arm to the side at a stunning speed. Hiro picked up the card calmly. Trevor had bolted out of his seat and was now slowly sliding on the ground, all his eyes wide, his mouth open in surprise. “– _yukue mo shiranu – koi no michi kana..._ ”

“ _Hana no iro wa – utsuri ni keri na – itazura ni –_ ” Again the card was taken as soon as she opened her mouth. Hiro had not been joking when he had told her he would have taken the cards at a slower speed when playing with her!

And yet the headmaster was not less fast. As the game proceded, it was easy to notice that he reacted almost as fast as Hiro, but that he didn't pick the cards because he deviated his arm before accidentally hitting him. He was afraid to hurt Hiro, realized Evan, and it was obvious, really, in retrospect.

Then finally the headmaster hit a card. Hiro smiled like a shark, all his teeth showing, and threw a hand in the air, using the other one to change the position of all the cards on his half of the field.

“Oh, it's getting _serious,_ ” whispered Quentin.

Evan turned towards him. “What? Can he do that?” he whispered back.

“Yes. See the hand in the air? That's to signal that he's changing the cards' position.”

“But now he has to remember the new ones, right?”

“Yes, but they're his cards. It's a vicious strategy.”

“ _Ai-mite no – nochi no kokoro ni –_ ” apparently it payed, because Hiro had already taken the card from his field while the headmaster was still looking at the cards, trying to find it.

It continued like this; Hiro snatched card after card, and whenever the headmaster managed to take one he changed the positions again. The tension was heavy: not a sound could be heard. A lot of students who had gone outside were looking from the windows. Hiro's movements were brisker, more focussed than the earlier game. He wasn't playing to calm himself now; it was a game of will, of self-affirmation. He was saying _look at me. Your_ son. _Hiro. I'm_ Hiro.

They reached a point were they were taking a card each, the game in a frenzy now, Hiro switching the positions madly, the headmaster struggling but following the pace. Then “ _Awaji shima_ –” went Hisako, and Hiro hit the last card on his field with a loud _crack_. The headmaster let out a shout and then Evan saw why: Hiro's fingers where bent at a strange angle, the bone showing.

Hiro didn't aknowledge the headmaster's concern, though, his pupils blown wildly. He picked the card with thumb and little finger and let it fell on his side, near the other twenty-four stocked neatly. It fell with a soft thud in the shocked silence. He then bowed deeply to the headmaster. “Arigatou gozaimashita.” He straightened himself and then straightened his fingers with the other hand, another _crack_ echoing in the room. The flesh started regrowing around the bones. No one dared speak. It was as if everyone had simply ceased to breathe. Evan could hear his heart beating wildly. Hiro turned towards Hisako and bowed to her, too. “Arigatou gozaimashita.” She was staring at him, eyes wide.

He turned to the headmaster and _grinned_ and it looked so astonishingly, genuinely, heartbreakingly _happy_. “That was the most amazing game I've ever _played._ Thank you!”

The headmaster looked about to have a stroke, so pale was he. “Are ye all right?”

“Yes! Why?” Hiro began reorganizing the cards, leaning over to pick the cards at the headmaster's side when he didn't move to help.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Quentin.

Evan had to agree with the sentiment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Hiro woke up and every istinct of his body screamed _stay still. Assess. Stay still._  
>   
> 
> **Glossary**  
>  _Sawaranaide!_  
>  Don't touch me!  
>  _Watashi kara doo itta mono wo nozonde imasuka? ___  
> What do you want from me?


	12. Chapter 12

12.

“I want to earn your trust, your faith, your heart.

You'll never be deceived.

Liar, liar, liar, liar.

Liar, liar, liar, liar.

Liar, liar, liar, liar.

Liar, liar, liar, liar.

Liar. Liar.”

Emilie Autumn – _Liar_

 

 

Hiro had finally managed to focus on the book again – the black plane which had took flight from the school had been far too loud, hurting his ears – when he heard someone coming near him and stop a few feet from him. For a while, they didn't speak. He sniffed. Ah. Logan-san, of course. Apparently seeing him reading alone on the lawn wasn't enough to discourage him.

“Hey.”

His attention diverted from his book, Hiro sighed and raised his head to look at Logan-san. He stood almost aligned with the sun, but not quite, and the bright light hurt Hiro's eyes.

“ _Father_.” Hiro sniffed and lowered his head. He found again the line he was in and finished the sentence. “ _Could you move closer, so that you cover the sun?_ ”

Logan-san shuffled closer; his shadow covered the book. Hiro put his index finger on the line he was in and raised his head again. Ah, that was better; now he could see his face. He seemed determined and at the same time afraid, his jaw clenched, his eyes soft.

He nodded towards the book. “ _What are you reading?_ ”

“ _Orlando. A woman who is a man. Or the other way around. I'm still trying to understand. The style is interesting._ ” He sniffed and switched to English. “What is the style called?”

“The style?”

“The way she writes. It's a specific way of writing, a... movement, is it not? Have I understood correctly?”

“Ah.” Logan-san rubbed his nose. “Modernism.”

“Modernism,” he repeated. “It's quite interesting. I think I prefer earlier novels, though.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, I'd say Wilde. And Austen.”

“ _Austen?_ ” Logan-san seemed surprised, “How much have you been reading?”

Hiro shrugged. “I like to have a wide grasp on things.” And he had plenty of time, too. He itched to return to his reading. What did Logan-san want? He should know he wasn't going to forget what he had said just because they had played karuta.

It had been fun, though.

Logan-san didn't seem to be in the mood to be brief. He was glancing around at the lawn: it was a sunny day, every student was out. His father's gaze stopped on Quentin-san's group: he was laughing with Evan-san and Trevor-san.

“Why aren't you with them? I thought you enjoyed their company.”

 _Is there_ anything _you don't want to control about me?_ Annoyed, Hiro returned to Japanese. “ _I have to finish the book. I'll join them later. Why aren't you with the teachers, father?_ ” He found that when he used that word Logan-san was more malleable. He loathed doing it, he felt uncomfortable, and he didn't want to disrespect his father's memory, but Logan-san seemed to appreciate it, be reassured by it. Daken probably didn't use that word much.

“ _I wanted to speak with you. Can I sit here?_ ”

 _I'll never finish the book_ , Hiro thought, sighing inwardly, but nodded graciously to his father. “ _Of course. Please, do._ ”

Logan-san sat on the grass, and for a while he gazed around, eyes never stopping on Hiro. _Oh, this is going to take a while_ . Hiro turned his attention to his book, but found himself reading the same line over and over again. _What does he want?_

 _What do you want from_ me _?,_ he had found himself asking him. He had already been on edge and then Logan-san had went and said all those things about Daken, about Quentin-san... the sheer nerve of accusing Quentin-san, oh, if only he knew how helpful Quentin-san was, he wouldn't have _dared_ , but no: no, he couldn't know, he couldn't, he couldn't do this to Daken. And then he had called _him_ Daken. And then he had tried to _touch_ him, and he had lost it, he couldn't bear it, he had wanted to bury his claws deep, deep, deep into his stomach and _lie down_ and just be done with it. _I wouldn't have turned to him if you had been honest with me_ , he had shouted. _Do you want me or him? You have to decide that. I am not a doll to move at your every whim! Do you even know what you want? You're driving me mad! Just be honest with me!_

Logan-san had looked like the thought hadn't never even occured to him. He kept hiding things and sometimes Hiro wondered if he really wanted to help him regain his memories, and then he would say something about Daken – he never mentioned him, they were off-hand comments – or he would get that _look_ , like he was trying to figure out Hiro, like Hiro was someone else entirely, someone he didn't want... oh, Hiro was not stupid, he had him figured out and didn't understand how could Logan-san not understand that he couldn't have anything from him. He was not the one he wanted something from: Daken was.

“ _I thought about what you said the other day_ ,” Logan-san spoke suddenly.

 _It took you long enough._ He nodded supportively.

Logan-san sighed. “ _I have... not been honest with you. I hid things from you..._ ”

 _Finally, he admits it_. Hiro tried not to, but ended up putting a hand on his mouth and snorting. These western habits were really annoying.

Logan-san jerked towards him when he heard the sound. Hiro lowered his hand from his mouth.

“ _Yes, of course. I knew that_ ,” he waved his hand and was rewarded by the look of sheer outrage and guilt on Logan-san's face. “ _But please, do continue_.”

“ _Hiro_ ,” Logan-san opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then clenched his jaw and continued, “ _I'm sorry. I'm not doing this to hurt you, I swear. I'm not hiding the truth to spite you. We... Daken and I... things happened. Terrible things. I don't want you to know them because you're so young._ ”

 _If only you knew what I see in my dreams. Terrible things indeed. I don't think they can compare. The man..._ He shivered and focused on a _tanka_ , like Quentin-san had suggested. It kept that _face_ away, his father's reciting voice coming to cover the sickening sounds the man made, the things he said, the _things_ he _did_.

Logan-san was still speaking.

“ _Daken and I fought a few times. At the beginning, he blamed me for his – your – mother's death. Then... I don't know why he kept denying me. I tried..._ ” Logan-san shook his head, “ _No._ _I'm sorry. This is not... This is not about me. You don't need to hear this. I'm trying to explain why I didn't want you to know about Daken's life while you were here. I thought that you deserved a chance to live a better life, be free of –_ ”

“ _I'll never be free_ ,” he interrupted Logan-san. Daken would never be free from the man. Never. _You may have killed him, but he_ lives. “ _You thought I wouldn't_ need _to have my memories back. That's the only thing I asked of you; I asked you to help me regain my memories_.”

“ _I know that. I'm trying. We're trying. Betsy and Rachel are helping you._ ”

“ _They're not doing_ enough,” he threw his book on the grass.

“ _I understand the frustration. Really, I do. I told you it happened to me, too. But they're doing all they can. And in the meantime, I didn't want you to know the terrible things Daken has done. You've been through a lot of terrible things already... I thought you would have been sickened by them._ ”

 _I'm ahead of you. And I don't think for a moment Daken ever did to someone else even a slim portion of what was done to him. He wouldn't. He's not an animal. I'm not an animal._ He crossed his arms. “ _He's a killer. I am, too. That doesn't sicken me_.”

“ _You're not a killer. It was an accident –_ ” this really seemed to be an important point to Logan-san, somehow. Even at the beginning, he had rushed to assure him that he wasn't.

“ _I killed a boy, once,_ ” Hiro said, and enjoyed the silence he brought about. “ _I'm not talking about my brother. That was a newborn. No, I killed a boy older than me. He was a disgusting person. The son of some servant. He and his friends used to beat me, called me a mongrel._ ” He looked straight at Logan-san. “ _I sneaked into his room and I strangled him. No one discovered me. But the other boys stopped harassing me._ ” Logan-san was very pale, now. “ _I know what I am. A killer. I know what Daken is: a killer. We are the same person, father. You don't need to protect me from him_.”

“ _Your life..._ ” Logan-san shook his head. “ _You're not a killer. That was in self-defense, too_.”

“ _Stop making excuses for me! I'm_ not _what you think I am. Stop wallowing in self-hatred. The past is the past, you can't change it. I know you would have wanted to raise me. I would have wanted that, too. I would have lived with someone who would know what I was, who would know what to expect as I grew up. Things could have been different, perhaps, but it's no_ use _thinking about it. Don't you see that?_ ”

For a while, Logan-san didn't answer. _I know what the problem is. You're thinking about the man. You think it's the man's fault. I suppose it could be true. But not in the way you think it is._ The man's face floated in his memory, that odious, lascivious grin. Bent down on him, smiling, so close, so _close_ , every wrinkle on that _face_ a map he knew by heart, his _nails_ ... Hiro breathed quietly through his teeth and shut his eyes. _Naniwa-zu ni_ – _Sakuya kono hana_ – _Fuyu-gomori – Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana – Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana..._ When he opened his eyes again, Logan-san was looking at him. But he was too close. Too _close_. He swallowed the vomit he was about to throw up and forced himself not to back away screaming.

“ _What were you thinking about?_ ” Logan-san asked, “ _You got that trembling again_.”

“ _Quentin-san taught me a way to calm down, father. Worry not, I won't cut myself anymore._ ”

“ _But what were you –_ ”

“ _Nothing of importance._ ”

“ _Why do you shut me out?_ ” Logan-san wriggled his hands, but didn't dare touch him, and he thanked him for that. He was torn between tearing his clothes off and screaming himself hoarse. “ _That's what I don't understand, I can help you_.”

Wasn't he persistent! _Don't you see? You can't. You obviously don't know, and it's not my place to tell you. Daken never told you, so_ _why should I? I have a duty to him, to myself. Not to_ you _._

“ _Maybe I don't want your help. Quentin-san helps me, and he doesn't want anything in return_.” And fortunately he hadn't seen the man's face. Had he, he probably would have told Logan-san.

Logan-san paled. “ _Do you really think that I want something in return?_ ”

“ _Don't you? You want a second chance. You want your son's love. But I am not him. I am your son, but I am not your son. I'm thousands of years away from you, father. I want my memories_ back _. You can talk this through with Daken, then._ ”

“ _I'm sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I didn't want you, Hiro. You deserve –_ ”

“ _I_ deserve _to have my memories back._ ” _I_ deserve _peace of mind, I_ deserve _to know how to_ control _this... this... this impulse._

“ _I agree_ ,” he was lying. He _stank_ of lie. He was afraid. He smelled of _fear_.

“ _You hurt him, didn't you?_ ” he said quietly. It was a shot in the dark, but he didn't miss the skip of the beating of Logan-san's heart. He shrugged. “ _That's all right, I suppose. Daken is a criminal. He knows the risks. If he is like me, he plans ahead and knows what to expect. Age must have sharpened this. That's it? You're worried I'll hate you because of something you once did to Daken?_ ”

“ _I hurt him_ ,” Logan-san exhaled, “ _Yes. I did. And that's not_ all right _, Hiro. Fathers shouldn't hurt their kids._ ”

That was a modern notion. Logan-san was older than him and he had to know that.

“ _Well, now I know. You hurt him. I'm not turning on you and stabbing you, am I?_ ”

“ _Hiro –_ ”

“ _That's because I don't know the circumstances. I assume you fought? I assume he hurt you. I assume you hurt each other, countless times. Daken is as much at fault as you. Am I correct?_ ”

Logan-san was fidgetting. “ _That doesn't excuse what I did._ ”

“ _I lack knowledge of the context. I can't answer._ ” He was being difficult and he knew it, but Logan-san had to understand this. He was not a surrogate to be used. “ _When I'll have my memories back, you can apologize, if you want. In the meantime, I'm here and I'm dealing with this memory loss –_ ” and with the man, the ever present man, the man with the face of Logan-san, bent down on him, bent down on him – _No! Nonononono! No!_ He punched the ground and let the claws out, letting them slide through the earth, he recalled his father's voice – _Naniwa-zu ni_ – _Sakuya kono hana_ – _Fuyu-gomori –_ and did his best to ignore the dread pooling in his stomach and the instinct to lie down, lie down, lie down, “ _– and... and... and –_ ” he took a breath, “ _– I want, no, I_ need _my memories back._ ” He stared down at the shaking ground. “Oh, I am sorry, Krakoa! Did I hurt you?” He patted his hands on the soil.

Logan-san was watching him with that strange expression again, the one he wore when he wanted to say something and then decided against it. Had he let something slip? No, he hadn't, had he? He opened his mouth to divert Logan-san's attention, to say something else, something about Quentin-san perhaps, yes, that seemed a good idea –

– but he was saved by a shout ringing across the lawn.

“Logan!”

They both turned in the direction of the voice: Drake-san, coming towards them. _I could_ kiss _you, man of ice._

He reached them.

“What?” Logan-san barked.

Drake-san wriggled his hands. “A call from Dazzler. You should come.”

“Fuck S.H.I.E.L.D. and fuck her. Don't you see I'm busy?”

Drake-san flinched. “Uh, yes, but she says it's urgent. She wants to see all of us.”

Logan-san got to his feet. “What about? Something up with the Brotherhood?”

Hiro sighed and stretched his arm to fetch _Orlando_ from the ground.

“No, Betsy hasn't reached Kymera yet. ETA 40 minutes, according to Hank.”

“And it's _urgent_?” Logan-san passed a hand through his hair and stared down at Hiro.

“She seems agitated, yes.”

Logan-san kept staring at him. “Do you mind if we talk later?”

Hiro waved his hands. “Not at all. Please, go.” He cracked open the book and smiled at Logan-san. “Just please give me the time to finish this.”

Logan-san seemed about to say something else, but then he cursed under his breath and stalked off with Drake-san.

Hiro waited till they entered the school, then he let out a shaky breath and stared down at the book, without really looking at it. Oh, that had been terribly close. Logan-san had noticed something, he was sure of it. Maybe he had understood that he half-remembered things? And he had given up too much, too. Maybe he shouldn't have told him about the servant boy.

But it had been worth it. Now he knew why Logan-san had always that desperate expression.

He wasn't surprised, not really. Judging from the reticence, there weren't many topics Logan-san couldn't want to talk about, and thanks to Evan-san and Quentin-san, he had already ruled out the worst things. He was used to being beaten, Logan-san hurting him wasn't anything new. _And Daken is used to –_

He gritted his teeth. The problem was the man. He couldn't go on like this, Logan-san was bound to notice. How the hell did Daken manage not to flinch every time he saw Logan-san? He would have preferred to slit his own throat.

 _I will not think about this, I will not. Read._ Read.

He flipped through the pages in a frenzy, searching the one he was reading before the interruption. He found it and forced himself to resume reading. _It was a fine night early in April. A myriad stars mingling with the light of a sickle moon, which again_ – he slipped in the rhythm of the words. He wasn't even paying attention to the story now. With his state of mind, he couldn't. What a disservice to this talented woman. He should go back and resume from the beginning of the chapter perhaps, yes, he should do it, now he was a bit calmer –

A faint sound in the distance, a slow _fssssss_. He sniffed and cocked his head. What a strange scent. Faint and elusive. What was it? He sniffed harder. It seemed... no, he couldn't recognise it. It... seemed... some –

 

* * *

 

Quentin woke up with a migraine and soil in his mouth. He spit it, disgusted. Why the hell was he lying on the ground? He groaned and tried to move and – was he _bound?_ Arms behind his back, something blocking his hands. _What the..._ his breath hitched in his throat as he shouted psychically.

 _We are under attack! Let's try to regroup, where are you, I think I'm in the front lawn with –_ he opened his eyes and saw a butt. They were wearing shorts... he trailed his gaze down and saw grey legs. _Evan's here, someone answer me! Some_ –

He squirmed to try and see someone else and his neck hurt like hell. He couldn't move his head! _What_. A collar? _Oh, shit_. He struggled. Obviously no one had heard him: that fucking thing would be blocking his powers.

“Don't move,” came a whisper from his right.

“Trevor?”

“Yes. Don't move.”

“Who is it?”

“Soldiers? I think. There's a blond man who leads them.”

“Describe him?”

“Tall, muscular, wears leather.” Well, that seemed an awful lot like –

“Where the hell are the X-men?”

“They were in the mansion...”

“Shouldn't they be here by now? How much time passed before we woke up?”

“I don't know... They had time to bound us all and put the collars on us.”

 _All?_ “Why, do you see anyone else?”

“We're all here.”

Evan groaned and tried to move.

“Don't move!”

“Trevor? What's happening?”

“Don't move, they'll see us.”

“Hell, whatever, if that's Creed he already heard us,” spat Quentin. “Right, blondie?” He shouted.

“Fuck, Quire, what's _wrong_ with you?”, came a strangled whisper from behind him. It seemed Santo.

“They already know we're awake!”

“And if they didn't now they do! Idiot!”

“Oh God, oh God the blond's coming –”

 _Like_ hell _I will be intimidated by that brute_. Quentin rolled on his back, colliding with someone, and managed to sit up propping on the metal thing holding his hands. Yes, it was Sabretooth. How wonderful. He was walking towards them very slowly, taking his own damn time, awfully sure of himself. Quentin asked himself again where the hell could the teachers be. Had they been incapacitated? He gazed around: he saw only students. They were all hoarded together, bound and collared. Most of them were groaning and trying to free themselves. _Did they drug us?_

There was an awful lot of people in military gear, too. Soldiers? Mercenaries? They were working with Sabretooth, so they were renegades, probably. _Let's see..._ some of them were keeping an eye on the group of students, weapons drawn. Others were lazily chatting.

For an attack, it seemed very low-profile. Shouldn't they be kicking them or kidnapping them or whatever villains did these days?

The combination of Sabretooth advancing and the idea of kidnapping reminded him that he had forgot something. He cursed out loud. Where was Hiro? He wasn't bound with them! He whipped his head around and saw him still unconscious on the lawn, away from them. He lay on the side, facing the group. Quentin squinted his eyes at him: he didn't seem to be collared.

He heard a warning shout coming from his left and then a hand grabbed him by his shirt, and he found himself lifted up, his feet kicking the air.

“Not paying attention to me anymore?”

He cursed and turned his head to come face to face with Sabretooth.

“Hey there,” he managed to exhale without stammering. Damn, but he was _close_. “Lovely day, uh?”

Sabretooth grinned. “The _loveliest_.” He shook Quentin and put him down again. He managed to sit, albeit ungracefully, without kicking Evan in the face.

Sabretooth was staring down at him with a questioning look. “Quentin Quire. Mind telling me what's the runt doing here? ” His head cocked in Hiro's direction. “You seemed very _interested_ in him just now.”

 _Oh, shit. Oh, oh, shit._ He heard Evan's breath hitch.

“Eh, I'd love to. Mind telling us what are you going to do with us first?”

A corner of Sabretooth's mouth curled. “Still your annoying self, I see.”

“It's a gi –” Sabretooth kicked him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He exhaled, collapsing on Trevor's shoulder. He heard shouting from behind him.

“Leave him alone!”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God –”

“What do you want?”

“Now, now,” Sabretooth loomed over him and Trevor, “I asked you a question.”

Quentin felt his lips curl in a snarl. “Fuck you.”

Sabretooth smiled and looked down at him and there was something glistening in his eyes and Quentin felt his blood run cold, but the man simply shrugged and trailed his gaze on the other students. “So? Anybody wants to answer?”

Silence. Sabretooth kicked Quentin again and he slumped on Trevor's lap.

“Not so cheeky anymore, uh? What is Daken doing here?”

“Leave him _alone_!” screamed Idie, but didn't answer.

“Ah, who cares,” with a last kick, Sabretooth turned to Hiro and called across the lawn, “Mind answering? I know you're awake.”

 _Oh no, Hiro, run, run, run_ – it hurt even to breathe, but Quentin managed to sit up somehow, leaning heavily on Trevor. Hiro was sitting up, a hand passing through his hair, eyes fixated on Sabretooth.

He smiled.

“Victor,” he said, “Fancy seeing you here.”

_What –_

Hiro cocked his head to the side and continued, “What are you doing here?”

Sabretooth laughed and crossed his arms, “I asked first, junior.”

“Yes, I noticed.” In a fluid motion, Hiro – because it was Hiro, right? – stood up and stretched leisurely. “The poor kids don't know a thing, alas. I've been playing with them a bit. They think we're _friends_ ,” there was so much spite in the word that Quentin winced, but this wasn't possible, was it?

“I fucking _knew_ it!” shouted Julian. _No, no, wait, what is happening –? Hiro?_

_Daken?_

No, no, it wasn't possible, three different telepaths in his head and no one had noticed?

Sabretooth laughed. “You've been busy, I see!”

“Ah, you have no idea.” Hiro... Daken... walked very slowly towards them, a little smile on his lips. “Loganssseems to think I'm reformed.”

Quentin felt the blood drain from his face. He had slipped. He had drawn the sibilant for too long, he had been about to say Logan- _san._ And _reformed_? Shouldn't he brag about convincing them he had been amnesiac?

_Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, Hiro, what are you doing?_

 

* * *

 

Logan howled and went again at the doors with all his might, his claws screeching on the surface without doing as much as a scratch. He kept slashing at it, again and again and again. They had to get out of here, they had to get to the children!

Someone grabbed him from behind, “Stop it, Logan _stop it_ , you're going to hurt yourself!”

He was bleeding, his hands a pulp, but who cared, who the hell _cared_ , he had to do something!

He struggled, but the arms kept their hold. “Stop it. Stop it! You aren't helping!”

“Gotta... gotta open...” Logan fell on his knees, breathing heavily. This wasn't helping anyone, he had to calm down, calm down and _think_.

“It's pointless, Logan,” came Hank's voice. “Brute force won't open them, I made damn sure of it.”

Logan turned. “Leave me, Bobby, I'm calm now.”

Watching him warily, Bobby complied. Logan stayed where he was, his back leaning on the doors of Hank's lab.

The lab wherein they were _trapped_.

“Do _something_ , Hank!”, he all but growled.

“I'm _trying_.” Hank was bent down on his console, madly tapping buttons and pulling levers and sometimes howling angrily.

No one spoke for a while; they let him do his work. Logan banged his head on the door and fixated his eyes on the bigger screen of Hank's console, that now was flickering.

On that same screen, what seemed like ages before, Dazzler had been waiting, talking quietly with the others, when Logan and Bobby had entered the lab.

“Ok, what do you want, Blaire?” Logan had said.

Dazzler's eyes had flickered between all of them, LeBeau and Husk and Hank and the two of them.

“That's all of you?” she had asked, concern in her eyes. He should have noticed then.

“Yeah, yeah. What's up?”

“Look,” she had said, “This is for the best.” She had smiled apologetically and then the doors had closed _on their own_.

Logan had spun on his feet and yelled, “What the _hell_ , Blaire?” and then that _voice_ had come out of the speakers and Logan had felt his blood run cold amidst the others' curses.

“Agent Blaire is incapacitated.”

He had turned just in time to see Dazzler's face turn blue and her hair red. Mystique.

Hank had been already on the console, almost smashing the buttons, but Mystique had simply shaken her head.

“That won't work. Worry not, we'll free you soon.” She had seemed almost sad, or at least she hadn't been gloating, and then the monitor had flickered and all the other monitors had gone black and Hank had cursed and Logan had turned to the doors, claws unsheathed.

And now they were still here and the doors were still closed and Hank was cursing angrily and the children were out there and what. Was. Happening?

This had been a _trap_. They had sent most of them with the Blackbird to join Kymera and take down the Brotherhood and they had alerted S.H.I.E.L.D. because that was bound to get messy. It couldn't be a coincidence. This had been a _trap_ , and they had fallen for it, and apparently the Brotherhood was working with Mystique. But of course, it made sense that Raze would try and reach his mother and ask for her help.

Mystique, who had been impersonating Dazzler... for how long, now? Was Dazzler even alive?

What was happening out there?

“Hank, damn it, open the doors!”

“ _I'm trying!_ ” Hank howled, and smashed a machine with his leg, “They're damn good, that's what they are, they've overridden all of my firewalls!”

LeBeau got closer to Hank, “Don't you have an emergency pro –”

“ _Overridden!_ ” Hank growled, “ _Of course_ I have an emergency protocol, that's the first thing I tried!” He kept tapping and tapping, but the screens remained black.

“We have to find a way to warn the others. If this was a trap –”

“We have to warn _Scott_. What if the Brotherhood isn't where we thought? What if they're attacking Scott?” Bobby slowly slid on the floor next to Logan. “Hank, is there something we can do, an air conduct to exit, something...? The _children_ , Hank!”

Hank kept tapping madly, “No, I made damn sure this place was unreachable after their first attack. And they _knew_ it. They've written new codes. And if the one on the other end of this is one of them, he is certainly more knowledgeable than me. I won't open these doors. We won't reach anyone.”

“Don't you dare give up –”

“I'm not giving up, I'm trying.” He sighed and kept tapping, “Paige, turn on the surveillance system. Mabybe you'll manage to see what's happening out there.”

Logan was on his feet in a moment, they all converged on the screens as Husk turned them on.

“Why are these working?” Bobby asked.

“They're riding on a separate driver... try with the ones in the cafeteria and zoom out of the windows.” He cursed, “Come on, you may be a genius, but you'll have to rest your fingers, you'll have to!” he muttered, and kept tapping.

They cursed as the zoom showed a portion of the lawn. “Soldiers!”

Soldiers on the front lawn, yes. They wore standard gear, it was difficult to see if they were S.H.I.E.L.D or something else. This was way bigger than Logan had thought. What did they want with their kids? They had to know the original five weren't with them anymore...!

 

* * *

 

Hiro woke up and every istinct of his body screamed _stay still. Assess. Stay still_. He tried to school his breathing to a slow rhythm and in the meantime tried to discern the scents around him. There was a myriad of unknown scents, a myriad of people he didn't know. He lay on the ground, but he didn't seem to be injured. There wasn't anyone near him. There was a strong musky scent lingering in the grass in front of him, but there was no one near him now. He slowly opened his eyes, as little as possible, and tried to see from beneath his eyelashes.

There were... people. Armed people.

Where was Quentin-san? Was he all right?

Armed people walking, talking. Distracted. Easy prey.

Armed people near his friends. His friends were all together –

– his friends?

His friends. Yes. _No time for a revelation now._

 _Assess. Focus_.

Targets: the students. Armed people all around them. They were bound. Strange metal cases encasing their hands, strange metal collars around their necks.

_Why am I not bound?_

Attackers: _they haven't bound me because they know me._ Criminals, then. _They want to hurt the students_.

_I can take them down._

He could. Daken's body could. He could. He knew how to fight. He could take them all down –

– crossfire. Danger.

They could hit the students. They were too many. They could try and hit him, and instead hit his friends. He would be fine; they wouldn't be.

He had to play, and he had to be good.

_Stay still. Assess._

_You're fine till they know you're awake. Take your time._

Where were the teachers?

Nowhere to be scented. Not close. Away. He was alone. He had to find them –

“Right, blondie?” came a shout.

Relief washed over him. Quentin-san was fine. But why was he shouting? Was he stupid?

A figure coming closer to the students: a big, muscular man, wearing leather. For a terrifying moment it seemed the man.

_Stay. Still._

_Naniwa-zu ni – Sakuya kono hana – Fuyu-gomori..._

Then he saw his face and it wasn't the man. It was someone else: the man who had worked with Daken, the man who had kidnapped Evan-san, the man Quentin-san had showed him.

Creed. Victor Creed. _He's a psycho_ , Quentin-san had said. A psycho: short for psychopath. Someone with a sociopathic personality. Used in everyday language to mean a crazy person, a dangerous person.

I _am a dangerous person, too._

Victor Creed reached the students and grabbed Quentin-san by his shirt and pulled him up and Hiro almost growled, but bit his tongue and listened.

“Not paying attention to me anymore?”

They talked but he couldn't discern what they said. Victor Creed shook violently Quentin-san and then put him down again.

“Quentin Quire. Mind telling me what's the runt doing here? ” His head cocked in Hiro's direction. “You seemed very _interested_ in him just now.”

_Am I the runt? Is he talking about me? He's talking about me. Should I sit up?_

_Wait. Assess._

“Eh, I'd love to. Mind telling us what are you going to do with us first?”

The shock of betrayal was almost electric, but then he recognised it for what it was: stalling; fishing for information.

“Still your annoying self, I see,” said Victor Creed, and there was a dangerous edge to his voice. He was annoyed. _Quentin-san, you have to play along..._

Victor Creed kicked Quentin-san in the stomach, and Hiro saw him collapse on Trevor-san. He burned with rage. How dared he hurt Quentin-san!

Others shouted, but Victor Creed payed them no heed, looming over Quentin-san and Trevor-san.

“Now, now. I asked you a question.”

“Fuck you,” answered Quentin-san, but the wind blowing in his direction permitted Hiro to scent his sudden fear. This was no man to play with. This was a dangerous man and Quentin-san knew it, why was he provoking him?

Was he... protecting Hiro?

_I don't understand._

He had to sit up now. He had to help them!

“So? Anybody wants to answer?” Victor Creed was asking. If they kept not answering, he would have known something was wrong. He would have not trusted Hiro. He had to sit up and play, now. _Think_. Daken was a man sure of himself, a man who looked straight at theoretically hidden cameras while on mission and winked and smirked. He was –

Victor Creed kicked Quentin-san again.

“Not so cheeky anymore, uh? What is Daken doing here?”

 _Do it now or he'll kill him!_ Hiro quickened his breath and moved slightly and moaned.

“Ah, who cares,” with a last kick, Victor Creed turned to Hiro and called across the lawn, “Mind answering? I know you're awake.”

 _I will_ slay _you. How dared you hurt Quentin-san?_

Hiro sat up and passed a hand through his hair in what he hoped was a Daken-like gesture. He had to play, he had to pretend to be Daken, assess, move from here and find someone else because he couldn't free them on his own, there were too many men, too many. He looked at Victor Creed. _What could Daken call you? You worked together, so there's familiarity. Your first name?_

He imagined himself slashing his stomach with the claws and smiled at the thought. “Victor,” he said, “Fancy seeing you here.” _I will gut you, you animal_. He cocked his head to the side and continued, “What are you doing here?” _Tell me your plans_.

Victor Creed laughed and crossed his arms, “I asked first, junior.”

“Yes, I noticed.” He had to keep his attention on himself, divert it from his friends. _I must use my body_. _The man says I'm beautiful. I am._ In a fluid motion, he stood up and stretched leisurely. _Look at me. Look at_ me. “The poor kids don't know a thing, alas.” Too antique a word? He should tone his speech down. Now, why would Daken be there? Stall, he had to stall. Some of them had been worried he had been playing them with his pheromones, so it could be a thing Daken did normally. “I've been playing with them a bit. They think we're _friends_ ,” he summoned all his disdain at being betrayed by the men who had freed him from the tomb and put it on the last word. It should be convincing enough.

It was, at least to the students: the annoying, distrustful student shouted, “I fucking _knew_ it!” Right on cue. Good. It couldn't have been more perfect if they had been in on it together.

Victor Creed laughed. “You've been busy, I see!”

“Ah, you have no idea.” Yes, yes, good, mysterious enough, but there had to be a reason for Daken to be there, or Victor Creed wouldn't have asked! He walked very slowly towards them. _Think. Think._ He tried Daken's smirk, but he wasn't sure he had gotten it right. Now, from what he had gathered, there was bad blood between Daken and Logan-san. They fought constantly; Logan-san wanted a second chance with Daken but wasn't really willing to work on it; he didn't like Daken's behavior. He had been angry about him kissing Quentin-san because, he had said, it was something Daken did all the time, he used his body to achieve his goals, and not by fighting only, and Hiro thought that wasn't it to be _expected_ given the man – _focus, now's not the time, say something!_ “Loganssseems to think I'm reformed.” He cursed inwardly as he stopped himself to use the honorific and somehow managed to attach a verb to his father's name without a pause. An honorific could certainly give him away. _Cut the honorifics, don't use them, bite your tongue but don't use them!_

He reached them. He didn't spare even a glance for his friends, he was afraid his eyes could give away something. He had to play this man now.

Victor Creed laughed again. He seemed to be enjoying himself greatly. “Really? After what you've done? The runt's an idiot!”

Runt. Again. _Both me and Logan-san are called runt, then_.

“He feels guilty,” he shrugged. That at least he knew to be true. Now, if only he could make him talk about –

“Ah! That's an understatement! Ye should've seen his face!” He snorted. He clasped Hiro's shoulder and he felt an immediate, visceral urge to cower. He was looming over him, asserting his superiority. His build was too similar to the man's. “I thought you were dead for good! You played me, uh?”

Someone's breath hitched. His breath almost did, too. Victor Creed had been present at his death?

“You thought I was dead. Did you _bury_ me?” he asked.

Victor Creed's hand clenched for a moment and his eyes narrowed. “Why should've I?”

 _Oh no. Oh no, mistake. Mistake. Tread carefully, carefully. Dismiss it._ “How should I know? I was busy being dead, wasn't I?” He shrugged.

Victor Creed's hand left his shoulder. Was he losing him? Had he not understood correctly the dynamic? The hand on the shoulder had seemed protective and assertive.

He was ruining it. Ruining it, ruining it. Careful, he had to be careful. _Give up a piece of truth and he won't see the lie. Try and salvage it and then change the subject._ “I only ask because I've spent some time in a tomb and it wasn't funny at all, I tell you.” _But what if he killed me? If he killed me, he wouldn't have buried me, and Daken would know he killed him, and he wouldn't have_ asked. _I'm an idiot!_

“A tomb? Ah! It doesn't seem fun.” But he laughed.

 _Or maybe he_ did _bury me just to laugh at me after? But if he killed me wouldn't Daken be wearier around the man who killed him? Am I using the wrong approach?_

“Are you _sure_ you didn't bury me?” He asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

Victor Creed sobered, “Junior, I wouldn't be so stupid to bury someone with a healing factor if I knew he would come back and give me hell for it.” And he didn't seem to be lying, either.

“But you thought I was dead.”

“The runt did, too. Did you ask him?”

Logan-san had been present at his death? He hadn't told him.

There was something wrong here, deeply wrong.

_Keep talking._

“No, I didn't.”

“Well, where were you buried?” Victor Creed was checking his fingernails.

“Japan.”

Victor Creed snorted. “And you didn't think it was him? _Japan_. He's nostalgic like that. Must've been a pretty tomb too, since he felt so guilty.” He raised an eyebrow at him. He was expecting something. Something was amiss. Logan-san had buried him?

 _I hurt him. Yes. I did,_ Logan-san had said.

Oh, the bastard. He felt his blood run cold with anger.

“A pretty tomb indeed,” he spat. He had buried him and left him for dead and left him at the hands of those men and those dogs and then come at the rescue and feigned paternal concern and –

– and Victor Creed was trying to play him, trying to took control of him. _Oh, I won't let you do that. I will save my friends and_ then _Logan-san and I will have a chat. A chat involving my claws_.

Victor Creed smirked. “So you thought to come here and play the runt? He must've been desperate for your forgiveness to let you stay here.”

“... probably,” he exhaled. He was shaking with anger and he couldn't control it. And Victor Creed had noticed.

And something continued to be amiss. Because Victor Creed was yet reasoning on the assumption that Daken would think Logan-san would feel guilty, but it had just been asserted that Daken wouldn't know that Logan-san had buried him, so Victor Creed thought, and thought that _Daken_ would think, that Logan-san felt guilty about something _else_.

“Oh, come now, don't be upset. Here.” Victor Creed thrust his hand in his pocket and took out one of those modern contraptions, a cell phone. He played a bit with it, muttering “Where is it, where is it? Ah!” He offered it to Hiro. “This will lift your mood. The face he made was priceless!”

He took the cell phone in his hands and looked at the screen. There was a video waiting to be played. “The face... he made... when?”

He heard a faint gasp and turned to the students and Evan-san was pale and was shaking. _Why_ was he shaking?

He turned again towards Victor Creed. He was looking at him with a questioning, puzzled expression. “When you _died_ , junior. Are ye ok? The tomb fucked with you?”

“Ah... a... a _bit_. Did you _film_ my death?” If he had filmed it he couldn't have killed him.

Victor Creed shrugged. “Too far to help. No hard feelings, eh?”

 _Bastard._ “No hard feelings, Victor,” he said, and played the video, anticipation burning his stomach. _Am I doing this right? Would Daken refuse to watch it? Would he watch it? I don't know him enough! What am I doing? Oh, what am I doing? He wants to gauge my reaction. I should watch it and stay calm through it, whatever I see, it's just my death, it's nothing –_

It was a desolate background, all debris and smoke and ruins. The camera shook and zoomed and there were two figures fighting, claws unsheathed, and one of them was him, and one of them was –

– was –

– was _Logan-san_.

Then Logan-san slashed his chest and put a hand on the back of his head and put him face down and held him down, down, down, down on a pool and he stopped breathing and he heard crying on the background, it seemed Evan-san, he was crying, crying, crying, and the only thing he could think as he saw himself trash about and held down by Logan-san was –

_Oh._

_He killed me._

_My father killed me._

_My father –_

– _yesssssss –_

– water. Water up his nostrils, he was drowning, he was dying, he was letting go, he was going under, drowning, drowning, Logan was drowning him, Logan was killing him, good riddance, yes, yes, _yes_ , Logan, yes, father, yes, yes, kill me, _kill_ me, I hate you, I loathe you, I hate you I love you I hate you I will always be bound to you so I'm letting you go, I'm letting you go, father, father, father here I come here I come here

I

come

coming, coming, coming, I'm coming, you're beautiful, you'll be so beautiful, beauty is everything, sex is everything, it's all about power you see, about control, people want something, people always want something, never care about them, never, never, never, never care about anyone but yourself, never, never, never, there lies, there they lie, they lie, they LIE – _undress and lie down_ – because no one else will care about you, not even me, and that is your first lesson my beautiful boy, no

one

cares

and now

undress

and lie down for me

and I hate you, I love you, I hate you I love you I hate you I love you I will kill you, I will never kill you, I will never be able to kill you because I

love

you

damn you

Romulus

damn

you

to

hell

damn you to hell

damn you to hell

you burned me and it was good

and it was perfect

and you lied to me

you lied to me

you used me and that was fine I knew you were doing it and that was fine but why did you have to burn me

burn me

 _burn_ me

kill me

and kill me again

and again

father kill me

father you should have killed me

father you should have killed me

I was a demon and now I'm a prince and do you see me father do you see how far I'm gone

do

you

see.

 

* * *

 

He opened his eyes. He saw –

 

* * *

 

Damn, he was good. He really had him convinced for a moment. But what did he think he could do? Sabretooth was bound to notice. What did he think he could do, all alone? He was only a kid.

Where the hell were the teachers?

As they kept talking, Quentin felt increasing unease. Before he could notice the conversation had turned to the subject of Daken's burial and Hiro was interrogating Sabretooth on it. Sabretooth denied and accused Logan of it and now he was showing him a cell phone. Hiro was shaking, he was believing it. Could it be possible that Logan had buried him and that was what he and everyone else was hiding?

“This will lift your mood,” Sabretooth was saying, “The face he made was priceless!”

Hiro took the cell phone in his hands and looked at the screen. “The face... he made... when?”

And at that point Evan gasped and began shaking like a leaf. Quentin turned towards him. He was white as a sheet and he was shaking and squinting his eyes. Was he crying? Why?

“When you _died_ , junior,” said Sabretooth, “Are ye ok? The tomb fucked with you?”

“Ah... a... a _bit_. Did you _film_ my death?”

“Too far to help. No hard feelings, eh?”

“No hard feelings, Victor.”

Hiro played the video. No sound came from the cell phone, but he was staring down at it as if his life depended on it, and wasn't it exactly that? He had the opportunity to discover the truth, the truth he had been searching for all these weeks. The timing was bad, but –

Hiro's breath caught in his throat. He had a distant, vacant expression, his eyes empty and devoid of emotion. What –

“Oh, God,” Evan hiccuped suddenly. “Oh God. Oh, oh my God.” He bent down, head on his knees, and burst out crying. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, oh God, oh my God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

Quentin felt sudden dread. Evan knew something. Evan had always known something, the teachers had come to him when Hiro had showed up, he had been the last one to see Daken, together with Logan and Psylocke.

And with Sabretooth. Sabretooth had been there, and apparently he had been there when Daken had died, too.

 _One of_ them _killed Daken._

_Oh. Fuck, no. No, no, no._

And then Hiro bent down, the cell phone falling from his hands, and wailed: a long, long, impossibly long wail, his arms coming to cover his ears. Sabretooth stepped backwards, a puzzled, fascinated expression on his face, and held his hands up to stop the alerted soldiers from coming closer.

Hiro's claws went out a second later with a jerking movement of his hands and he fell on his knees, and the wail still didn't stop. He was shaking like a leaf, and now he was murmuring, begging, “Yamete yamete yamete kudasai yamete kudasai yamete yamete yo yamete yo ya –” and then he dropped down on the grass.

He didn't move.

Quentin surged on his knees, concerned, and shuffled closer.

Sabretooth walked around Hiro and picked his cell phone from the ground.

“So. Interesting.” He kicked him very lightly on the side. Hiro's head rolled towards Quentin and he saw that his eyes were shut tightly, and that there was blood under his nose.

“Ye there?” Sabretooth cocked his head to the side and stared down at Hiro. “What happened? That was quite a show, mh?” Sabretooth seemed to be talking to them now. Evan was still crying, hysterical, hoarse sobs. Quentin didn't deign Sabretooth of an answer, all his attention on Hiro. Regardless of what he had seen – he would not think about it, he hoped it wasn't what he thought it was – it must have been traumatic.

Hiro suddenly stirred and opened his eyes. He stared right at Quentin. His pupils were wildly dilated, but then they went to a normal size again. Quentin wanted to ask him how he was, wanted to hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright.

“Hey there, Daken. Ye there? Ye went nuts for a moment.”

Hiro didn't answer. Quentin thought that at least there was something he could do to let him know he was there for him and honestly, fuck Sabretooth, he could say he had suddenly felt like singing. “ _Na_ –” he began to chant, and Hiro's eyelashes quivered and he interrupted Quentin.

“Nuts? No, Victor. I just woke up.”

Quentin's mouth hanged open. He stared at Hiro and saw something in those eyes that wasn't there before. A coldness.

“Woke up?” Sabretooth repeated.

“Oh, yes.” Hiro... Daken... sat up, passed the back of his hand under his nose and licked the blood off it, his tongue nudging between knuckles and claws. He retreated his claws. His gaze was slightly off; he kept staring at Quentin. “Yes,” he repeated, “It seems that all it took to wake me up was seeing dear old dad killing me.”

Outrage and rage burned through Quentin. The fucking fucker! He heard cries behind him. The only one who didn't show signs of surprise was Evan; in fact, he simply cried louder.

Daken's gaze left Quentin and stopped on Evan.

“Oh, do quit _whining_. You're annoying.”

Evan's breath hitched. “I'm sorry...”

“ _Shut up_.”

Evan winced.

“Now, this is really interesting, but I'm confused. Wake up?”

Daken turned his head to look up at Sabretooth with a smirk. “Logan thought it would be funny to take me here and play with me while I was amnesiac.”

Sabretooth snorted and then laughed, laughed, laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Wish I weren't. You've been providential.”

“Well you're welcome, then.”

Daken stood up. “So –” he began, but Sabretooth caught his arm and didn't let it go. Daken stood very still.

“Now, let me see if I _get_ this. You were amnesiac and you were trying to play me, just now?”

“Yes.”

“And how should I know that you're not doing it _now_ , too?”

And that was the question, right? Quentin himself wasn't sure of it. He seemed off, he didn't seem to be Hiro, but then again he had almost believed he was Daken, before. And he had stopped Quentin when he had been about to chant the poem.

Daken smiled and lowered his eyelashes demurely. He passed his free hand over Sabretooth's forearm. “Oh, Victor,” he _purred_ , “Do you want proof that I'm me?” There was something tingling at the back of Quentin's throat, something slick and strange that made his mouth go dry. Daken looked up at Sabretooth, his fingers trailing on his upper arm. “Or what? Will you _bind_ me and _gag_ me?” Was it just him and his depraved mind or there was a suggestive leer in those words?

Sabretooth's mouth twitched. “Yes. Can't take risks.”

“Oh, I understand.” Daken stilled his hand on Sabretooth's shoulder. The gesture was overtly sexual and intimate in a way that reminded Quentin of that day on the couch. Daken's fingers fanned out over Sabretooth's shoulder. “Let's see. I _remember_ you fucked me quite thoroughly the day before you went and took the kid. On the console. It was a bit rough, but hey,” he smirked, “I like rough.”

That was disturbing and it was an image that really, really Quentin would have preferred not to have seared in his brain. And with the background information he had, with the image of that abusing _bastard_ burned in his memory, it was also making him feel sick.

And it also seemed to confirm that this was Daken. “I _remember_ you were _there_ for me, when I was recovering. You nursed me back to health. You took _care_ of me. You gave me a purpose again.” That last sentence was almost a whisper. He was very close to Sabretooth now, his head tilted up, the throat exposed, as if he were awaiting a kiss or a bite.

Sabretooth seemed convinced. He let go of Daken's arm, but Daken left his hand on Sabretooth's shoulder. “Can I be in on whatever you're planning, Victor? I'd _love_ to make daddy pay.”

“Oh, all right.”

He turned, and Daken turned too, and Quentin must have made a sound of dismay because Daken turned on his heels, “Oh, I _almost_ forgot!”, he said cheerfully.

He crouched right in front of Quentin and smiled at him and – _snikt_ – there was a claw on his collar. He managed not to flinch. “Quentin.” Daken slowly let the claw slide upwards, the screech of claw on metal hurting his ears. “ _Friend_.” The claw stopped on the soft flesh under his chin. Daken's eyes never left his. “Did you lie to poor Hiro, too?”

 _I didn't and you know I didn't. I was trying to help you!_ “No. I didn't know any of this, I swear.”

“Mh-mh. See, I don't really believe you.” Daken cocked his head to the side and kept staring at him. “The poor kid. Latching onto you. It must have made you feel so powerful. Crying all over you. Spilling all his secrets. Did you find them interesting?”

No, no, he was getting it all wrong! Quentin opened his mouth, but Daken's finger was already over his lips. “Shhh. I get it. I get it. But forcing yourself upon a poor kid, Quentin,” he tutted, “That was gross and completely uncalled for.”

What the hell was he talking about? He hadn't, they _hadn't_ , he had stopped, he had said –

– _oh..._

_Oh!_

Realization hit him. He widened his eyes, surprised, and Daken shoved him, making him fall over Trevor.

Or maybe it was the other way around. Sabretooth would probably think the two things were in reverse order.

After all, they had happened at exactly the same time.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “Calm down,” he breathed in his ear, oh so quietly, “This shouldn't take long.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning!!!**  
>  **Warning.** _Please_ be aware that this chapter depicts the attempted (I repeat, **attempted** ) rape of a minor. It also depicts a **torture/mutilation** scene.  
>  **Warning** also for general noncon issues due to the nature of Daken's pheromones.  
>  I repeat, just to be sure: the minor **is NOT** raped.  
>  **Thanks for your attention.**

13.

“I will break your bones.

You think I'm bluffing? Just try me.

I will never forget

the words you used to ensnare me

till my dying day.

You'll suffer for this, I swear.”

Emilie Autumn -  _I want my innocence back_

 

 

This was a nightmare. This was a nightmare, and he would wake up soon, right? Evan was trying to calm down, he really was, but the sight of Daken and Sabretooth together was enough to make his stomach churn in unease and sheer terror. Those days he had spent with the Brotherhood were all coming back in a rush, and they were drowning in  _guilt_ .

Because Hiro had been trying to help them. That poor, little, sweet kid. Hiro had been trying to help them, had been trying to pretend to be Daken and play Sabretooth and now he was  _gone_ , swallowed back by Daken, and his last thoughts must have been of betrayal and anger. Towards all of them, towards the headmaster, towards Quentin, but most of all towards him. The face he had made as he was staring down at that cell phone, Evan would remember it till he lived. For a moment it had seemed as if he simply couldn't  _believe_ what he was seeing, like he wasn't able to register it.

Oh, God. That wail.

And now Daken was back and he was allying himself with Sabretooth.

“Evan? Evan, did you know this?” they were asking him, with disbelieving, shocked faces. And all he could do was rock back and forth and try and breathe and don't, don't look at Daken talking with Sabretooth, don't.

“You knew,” spoke suddenly Quentin. He still lay over Trevor, where Daken had shoved him after accusing him of having... of having... he hadn't really done that, right? Not Quentin. That was sick. “You. Knew. You were _there_. Right, Evan? You _knew._ ”

“No, the headmaster didn't do something like that, I refuse to believe it!” Idie said. 

“Well let's see what Evan has to say, eh?” Quentin seemed angry, his jaw clenched, his eyes reduced to slits.

“Oh, you're one to talk! Pedophile!” cried Idie. Quentin flinched and glanced at Daken and Sabretooth and didn't answer. They were a few meters ahead of them, talking. Why wasn't he denying it? He hadn't really... he hadn't... no, he couldn't have...

“How could you?” he breathed, staring at Quentin.

“How could I...? How could _you?_ ” Quentin spat, “How _could_ you! You could have at least told me, I could have tried and helped him –”

“I didn't do anything! And you went and... oh my God, that's why he was so close to you, you... you took advantage of him!”

Quentin didn't answer, his gaze again on Daken. That was disgusting, that was...

“Jesus,” said Trevor, “Jesus, gross, get the fuck away from me!” He shoved Quentin away with his shoulder. Quentin managed not to fall on the other side and balanced himself and then looked again at Daken and then at Evan.

“You didn't _answer_. Why didn't you tell me?”

How could he accuse him like that after what he had done to Hiro?

“They _said_ ,” he figured he owed an answer to his friends, at least, “They said not to tell anyone! They didn't want to shock Hiro! He wouldn't have trusted anyone anymore! They wanted to help him!”

“That's a strange way to help!” Quentin snarled.

“I'm not having this conversation with you, you... you animal!”

Quentin laughed hysterically.  What had he to laugh about , Evan didn't know and didn't want to know. Evan made a disgusted sound and glanced around, at the circle of soldiers keeping an eye on them. He couldn't see their faces, they wore  helmets , but some of them were sniggering, enjoying the show. Why weren't they stopping them from talking? That was strange.

“So it's true? Logan killed Daken?” asked Hisako, from a few rows on the back.

Evan bit his lip: no use denying it now. “... yes. It's true.”

Hisako slumped down and he couldn't see her anymore. He had managed to see her shocked face for a moment, though.

“Oh, man, oh man, he must be _royally_ pissed off,” whispered Santo, eyes wide.

“Hey, look,” Julian was on his knees and was talking to the soldier nearest to him. “What do you want from us?”

The man didn't answer.

“Come on, why are you here? What are you going to do to us?”

The soldier pointed a gun at him. Julian backed away. The soldier next to the one with the gun snorted and said, “Keep behaving and nothing will happen to you.”

What did that even  _mean?_ It didn't make sense. 

“They're stalling,” spoke suddenly Trevor. “They're just keeping an eye on us, they won't do anything. They're waiting.”

“Waiting for _what?_ ”

“How do you know?”

“The blond just said it. And now he's... smiling at me.” Trevor shivered. “I don't think they give two shits that I'm spying on them.”

Evan glanced at Daken and Sabretooth. Daken's posture was strange, slightly hunched, as if to seem even smaller than Sabretooth than he already was. He was looking up at Sabretooth with an attentive, focused gaze. Sabretooth was speaking, a pparently explaining what were they doing. 

“If they know you're spying on them, they won't say anything!” Santo whispered.

“Better this than nothing!” Trevor shot back. “We can't do anything anyway and they know it, so it does make sense that they would gloat a bit! Villains, right? Never seen a movie, have you?”

Sabretooth laughed, “That was a nice one, eye boy!” He said loudly. He clasped Daken's shoulder and started walking, resuming speaking. Daken turned his head to look up at him, listening intenly. That was... that was...

Was he  _defering_ to Sabretooth?

_Had to put in some hours with your boy_ , he recalled Sabretooth saying. Desperate  _for some fatherly adoration, kid was a_ snap  _to manipulate_ .

_If I manage to tell him that_ Sabretooth _orchestrated his death, he will..._

What? He would do what? Evan bit his tongue.  _The fact that Hiro was trying to help us doesn't mean anything. This is_ Daken. Daken was a villain. A murderer. He was evil. _He hurt me. He won't do anything._

And he had spent a month in a tomb. That would be enough to turn rabid the most calm person in the world. And  _then_ he had been chained for months. And  _then_ he had been lied to. He must be fed up. But maybe, just  _maybe_ , he could turn him against Sabretooth ...

“Oh, shit,” said Trevor. Evan turned to look at him. They all turned to look at him. “Look, I'm sorry,” he said. He was looking at Evan.

Evan felt his blood run cold. “What?”

Trevor now was carefully avoiding looking at Evan, all his eyes focused elsewhere, some of them still on the couple walking the lawn. “It's those guys from the future again. They're together. A joint attack to keep the X-Men occupied, while one of them comes here to pick up –” he exhaled.

“To pick up –?”

“Some of us. People who will spark a war between mutants and humans. They want to dispose of them.”

“Us? A war? We're the good guys!”

“And _they_ 're the bad guys, what do they care?”

Trevor shook his head. “Don't know. Daken asked him exactly that before, the blond said they were convincing enough.”

“Who? Who do they want?”

Trevor seemed uncomfortable. “Quire and... other people...”

“Me, right?” Evan asked, very quietly. “Me?”

Trevor didn't answer.

Apocalypse. He would become Apocalypse. He knew it. He was a monster.

“I get future Evan. But me?” Quentin spoke up. There was a void around him, all of the students nearest to him had moved to stay as far away from him as possible without falling on each other.

“Future Phoenix,” spat Trevor, not sparing a glance to him. 

“Oh, right. Slaughtering Broccoli people again?” How could he be so calm after his crime had been exposed? All of the strange things Hiro and Quentin had said were coming back to haunt Evan, now. That talk of pedophiles, for instance... he should have noticed! And Hiro didn't want to be touched, and he reacted only to Quentin's touch. And all those strange moments when Hiro seemed about to say something and then didn't now suddenly made sense. _Oh my God, I should have_ noticed.

Suddenly Trevor sucked back his breath.

“What?”

“Trevor?”

“Daken...” Trevor was shaking. “Daken just asked if they would mind to pick up damaged goods.”

That didn't seem to bode well. Shaking, Evan glanced at Sabretooth and Daken.

They were looking at the students, now, an intent gaze on Daken's part. Sabretooth seemed confused and shrugged, then spoke.

“He asked what he has in mind...” continued Trevor.

Daken looked straight at Evan and smiled the sweetest smile and answered.

Trevor shouted, “ _No!_ ” He backed away as if he had been hit. “No, no, no,  _no!_ ” he shouted at Daken, “Don't you dare, don't you  _dare!_ ” Sabretooth was laughing; he went in their direction and Daken followed. Trevor flung himself in front of Evan, who stumbled backwards, confused.

“What? Trevor, what?”

“You'll have to kill me, you'll have to kill me...”

“Pick 'im up,” said Sabretooth, annoyed, and a soldier went and scooped Trevor away. Trevor kept screaming and kicking.

“I'd love to, eye boy, but they gently _asked_ not to  do too much damage and they do have a _nasty_ telepath. Nastier than me, hey.” Sabretooth grinned at Trevor. “Now, the targets, on the other hand,” Sabretooth bent down to pat  Evan's head in a mock of affection. “Different thing entirely. Don't think they'd mind, they want to kill 'em. Why him?”

Daken came closer and looked down at Evan and Evan shrank away. “We have unfinished business. Right, Evan?” He crouched in front of him, a smirk on his face.

“Thought ye might want to get back at Quire.”

“But Quire was such an interesting fuck. And it was a perfectly legitimate transaction. My amnesiac self was easily swayed, but what can you do?” Daken looked at Quentin, who was looking at him with wide eyes. Transaction? Oh, what nauseating things had Quentin _done?_ “Evan, on the other hand, conveniently _forgot_ to tell me. So I'll have him.”

Sabretooth shrugged. “Works for me. But why inside? Could do it here.”

Daken laughed and looked up at him. “Why? You're worried this is a ruse for me to rush and free the X-men?”

Sabretooth snorted. “Ah!” and then snorted again, and released a puff of laughter, “No, but I'd love to watch.”

“Not as much as _I'd_ love to do it on daddy's bed, Victor. With Logan trapped in the lab, watching. They have _cameras._ They're trapped in there and all they can do is _watch_.”

What was he talking about, what did he want to do to him?

Sabretooth's lips curled in a terrifying smile, “Ah, you want to give the runt a show.”

“You do get me so well, Victor. Yes, imagine his horror as I fuck the boy senseless in his _room_ , in his bed. Imagine the _helplessness_.”

For a moment, it didn't register. Evan stared at Daken and his smirk and Sabretooth and his curled lip and then his brain simply shut down. He heard shouts as from far, far away, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. All he could do was stare and  _pray_ he hadn't heard correctly,  _pray_ he was dreaming,  _pray_ he would wake up.

“Oh, look, he's about to faint,” came from a long distance. A hand gripped his arm. “Not yet, Evan.” He was dragged to his feet – he stumbled but the hand kept him up. “How much time do I have, Victor?”

The shouts were louder now, screams piercing the loud buzz in his ears. Things like  _no_ and  _oh my God_ and  _let him go_ and  _monster, bastard, no, no, no_ ... He was being dragged now, dragged away...

Quentin came suddenly into his line of vision, he had launched himself in front of them. He looked staight up at Evan and said frantically, “It's going to be alright, Evan I swear, it's going to be alright!”

Daken's grip on Evan's arm tightened. “Yes, Evan. It will be alright; I will be as rough as Quire here was.” He dragged him away navigating around Quentin, a faint  _it's going to be alright!_ following them. 

It was  _not_ going to be alright. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't  _breathe_ . He was going to... oh, he was going to...

They were on the steps to the mansion when a shout echoed. “Stop.”

Daken's grip was vice-like now. He turned, turning Evan with him. Evan stumbled on the steps. “Yes?” Daken asked lightly.

Sabretooth was motioning to a few soldiers to follow them. “Take them with you, just in case.”

It was like being held by a vise. “They wouldn't serve much against the X-men.”

“No, but they'll warn me straight away if something's funny. You don't have a radio.”

“Alright then. _Thank you_ , Victor.”

Without awaiting the soldiers, he turned again and shoved Evan into the mansion. He seemed to say something, but it was too low for Evan to catch.

“Please...” he managed to exhale, “Please don't do this. Please!”

“Walk.”

“Please! I'm sorry, I should have told you, I'm sorry!” He realised he had began crying, but that wouldn't do him any good, he knew it. Not with a vicious, unrepentant monster like Daken. _He's going to... he's going to..._ He recalled Hiro's gentleness, his tears, his lost look as he watched Daken die, and cursed himself.

They were taking the stairs to the first floor now; Evan stumbled on every step, but Daken marched him mercilessly ahead. He managed to look over his shoulder and saw three soldiers following them closely, weapons drawn.

“Please,” he tried again. “Please, I'm sorry!”

“Should have thought about it sooner, Evan. Should have thought about it when you saw what Quire did and didn't do anything to stop it. But you protect each other, right? That's what _friends_ do.”

What was he talking about? Oh God, he was mad. He was crazy. The recovering from the amnesia must have left holes, must have confused him.

“No, no, I didn't know about Quentin, I swear I didn't know! I'm sorry for what he did to you, I really am, but I didn't _know!_ Oh, please!” he screamed and kicked but Daken didn't let him go.

“How kind of you, thank you. Move. We have _things_ to do and not much _time_.” He shoved him down a corridor.

It wasn't the way to the headmaster's room. It was a dead end, with no windows. Evan's breath hitched in his throath. He didn't remember the way? He –

The air suddenly felt thicker, heavier. Evan's mouth went dry, and he swallowed back a moan, his member twitching, his skin prickling.  _Oh my God. What is he doing to me?_ A far, far more collected part of his brain, eerily detached, told him he was using his pheromones. Then Daken shoved him on the wall, a hand on his mouth, and bent down on him, their cheeks brushing. 

“Calm down,” he breathed in his ear, oh so quietly, “This shouldn't take long.” 

He punched him in the stomach and Evan fell on the ground, breathing heavily. The air was so thick he couldn't think straight, there was something, a pressure at the back of his head, oozing, pushing, pulsing. His eyes hurt; a thick bitter taste rolled on his tongue. In a haze he saw Daken's shoes turn so that he faced the three soldiers. His ears were buzzing, he couldn't quite make out what was said, but he did see a helmet falling on the ground, a pair of legs walking backwards, others following close, close, very close, what were those noises, liquid, wet, strange, moans, bite, pull, touch, touch, pressure, pressure on his throat, his throat pulsing madly against the collar, he needed to, he  _needed_ to, needed to have, needed to do, to act, to have yes yes yes needed to, needed to –

– a hand grabbed his shoulder and rolled him on his stomach, hands over him, hands grabbing his shorts, pulling them down, yes, yes, yes –

_No!_ his mind screamed,  _No! No!_

He screamed and kicked but he was held down, someone over him,  _oh God, oh God no, no, no –_

“ _Stop_.”

The snarl was so animalistic, almost a growl, that for a moment he didn't recognise Hiro's voice –  _Daken's voice, that's Daken, Hiro's dead, dead, dead, dead_ . He struggled but was pinned down.

“Stop,” Daken's voice repeated, more quiet, but Evan sensed the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “The boy's not for you. Come, join us.”

“Hell no,” a voice over him said – _it's not Daken, who –_ “I'm not into that stuff, I'll stick to the kid.”

The air prickled. Evan froze instinctually, eyes wide. Danger. Danger. Danger.

An addictional pressure over him. “Perhaps you could be... mh... persuaded?” The voice stuck to Evan's ears like honey, but his senses told him  _freeze. Danger. Freeze_ . A rustling sound of fabric. Something pressed between his legs.  _Oh God, oh God..._ Evan shut his eyes.

Something  skidded on the pavement.

“Fuck off!” The voice over him said, “Go suck them, _I'm_ not a faggot!”

“No, you aren't.” Daken's voice was cold, was _terrifying_ , was void and hell. The pressure on his skull somehow lifted, he could breathe again, but now he was _burning_. “ _No_ , you're an animal.”

The man over Evan grunted. “Wh – ” he exhaled.

“That is a _claw_. You don't like unwanted things near your orifices?”

“This is too freakish for me, hey. Jack! Ed!”

“They're dead.” A honeyed purr again. “You could have gone nice and easy like them, but you just _had_ to be an animal.”

One of the man's hands left Evan. The man seemed to search frantically for something, then cursed.

“Oh, no, no. It's gone.” Daken's voice sounded almost condescending. “We wouldn't _want_ you to call Victor, my dear.”

“What... what...”

“I'll keep it _simple_. Do you want me to fuck you with this claw?”

The man over him sucked his breath.

“I didn't hear you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“ _No!_ For God's sake take that thing away from me, away!”

“Ah, but the thrill of it,” Daken mused, “Of course, you don't have a healing factor...”

“No! Get off me!”

“Then remove yourself from the boy. _Now_.” It was a command than sent shivers down Evan's spine. 

The man lifted himself from Evan and then he yelped and there was a crashing sound. What was happening? What was Daken doing, what was he going to do?  _Is he... is he going to...?_ None of this made sense.  _He said he was going to..._ Evan rolled on the side, trying to see what was happening in the corridor.

A dead man was staring at him. Evan's breath hitched. A dead soldier lay on the ground, with holes in his neck and blood pooling under him.

The other soldier lay near the opposite wall. He, too, had holes in his neck.

Their  helmets lay not so far.

And the  _third_ soldier – the one who had almost... Evan swallowed the rising bile and turned his head to look down the corridor.

He lay on the floor. Daken was looming over him, unbottoning his shirt. The shirt was disheveled... Daken's long, loose pants were disheveled too. Hiro had always preferred to wear long, comfortable clothing.  _Oh, Hiro. Oh, Hiro, I'm sorry._

They were stained red. Blood.

The man was whimpering. If only he could see what –

“Oh, don't bother,” said Daken suddenly. Evan forced himself to look at his face. It held a terrifying snarl, his eyes set on the man, the jaw clenched so hard that Evan asked himself how he could not hear the teeth gritting. _He's..._

_He's_ angry.

Another whimper.

“No, dearest, no.” Daken's voice was a caress. “You can't. Your senses are telling you there's a big, scary predator out here, they're telling you that it'll go away if you just stay still. It's difficult to overcome your senses, see? Because you're an _animal_.” Daken suddenly looked at Evan and there was a cold fury glistening in his eyes. He moved from the man to Evan, shaking the shirt off his shoulders, and Evan yelped and backed away, stumbling till his back hit the wall.

_Oh, God. Oh, oh God..._

Daken reached him and without even a glance to him he let the shirt fall over Evan's groin.

_What?_

“But I won't go away,” Daken returned to the man. “You are a vermin. You are scum, the lowlest of the low. You have to be eradicated.” He stepped on a hand of the man, who let out a shaking cry, and pushed his foot down. Evan could hear the little bones of the man's hand crush. “You.” The other foot went stamping the other hand. The man cried. Daken crouched low, sitting on the man's chest. “You like to go around, raping little kids.” The claws went out. He traced lazy patterns with them, on the man's thighs. Evan couldn't look away, horrified and yet drawn to the scene. Daken's pupils were blown, his nostrils white. “Today's your lucky day.” Daken bent forward, checking the man's pants, which were rolled down his knees, and his boots. “I have spent so much time thinking about what I could do to you. So much time. Nothing can stop scum like you. You just do it again, and again, and again...” His hand retired from the folds of the man's pants, drawing out a knife. His other hand went to grab the man's... the man's... “Evan. You might want not to watch.” He bent down, knife in one hand, and Evan understood what he was about to do and shut his eyes tightly as a scream echoed in the small space. _Oh my God, he's crazy. He's crazy, he's..._

_He's_ angry.

The scream was muffled suddenly. “Oh, shhh. Shhh, shh, shh. We don't want this to get any messier.” The voice was sweet and tender, the type one could hear in a hushed conversation between lovers. But the noise of the knife cutting through living flesh was the stuff of nightmares. “So proud of you. I'm hurting you for your own good, you do know that.” Evan felt bile surging up his throat, the smell of blood was sickening, but swallowed it back. He didn't understand what was happening. First Daken threatened to... rape him, and then did...  _this_ to a man who was about to do the same thing? “Here. Here, done. Good boy. Did you like it?” 

He must have moved whatever was stifling the man's screams, because now Evan could hear him again, breathing heavily, probably crying. Evan forced himself to open his eyes and saw Daken's chest almost painted with  bloody stains, his pants drowned in blood. He held something in his hand, something red.  _Oh God. He's cut it off._ He felt like throwing up again. 

Daken was not sitting on the man anymore. He was crouched beside him, the free hand moving a strand of hair from the man's face almost tenderly. “Now. Down to business, darling. You have those collars, I assume?  _Just in case?_ ”

The man cried louder.

“I didn't quite hear you.” Daken passed the thing in his hand over the man's face, painted a red line on one cheek. Evan suppressed a shiver. He had to keep it together if he wanted to get out of this alive.He had to understand what was happening...

_Why should I? I'm a monster. I'll become Apocalypse, I'll kill thousands, perhaps millions. Shouldn't I let them kill me?_

“Yes. Yes.” The man exhaled. “Please –”

“Oh, good to know. So you _do_ have something to control them, too?”

“Yes! Please, please!”

“Please what, exactly? _Please don't hurt me?_ ” Daken cocked his head to the side. “You didn't stop when Evan screamed, right?” 

“I... I...”

“Of course not. You never stop. Where do I find it?”

“I...”

Daken rested his free hand on the man's head, his wrist just above one of the man's eyes, angled in a strange way. “Do you see that?” He asked conversationally.

“In my pocket! In my pocket, in the vest!”, screamed the man.

“Oh.” Daken sounded almost disappointed. He bent over to check and picked up what seemed like an electronic device. He put it beside him on the floor. “So kind of Victor to give us the keys. Now, do you know anything of value, darling?”

The man was crying, “Please, please I don't know anything, please...”

“Nothing? ETAs, positions, names...” Daken listed off, caressing the man's cheek with his thumb. 

“I don't know anything, I swear, I swear!”

“A pity. Of course you were disposable.”

“Please... please, I have a family...”

“Should I care?” Daken sighed, and slowly put his thumb on the man's throat. “A family? Kids?”

“Yes!” The man seemed relieved, “Yes, _yes_ , a boy!”

Suddenly Daken's  _hand_ was on the man's throat, pushing but not quite, “What would he say if he knew daddy rapes kids?”

The man chocked, inhaling but not answering. Evan felt himself burning again, all his hair rising.

“Or perhaps he _does_ know. Perhaps daddy is the monster hiding in the shadows.” Daken bent down, his – Hiro's – ponytail brushing the man's face. “Is that it? Do you tell him he is _special_? Do you tell him it's all for his own good? Do you...” Daken lowered his head so that it was inches from the man's, his lips almost brushing the man's, “... _burn him?_ ” It went out as a whisper. Evan felt tears tingling at the corners of his eyes.

The man was very still. Daken raised his head again, and his expression sent shivers down Evan's spine. His eyes were a slit, his nostrils flared, his jaw set. Evan wanted to scream and run as far away as possible, but he couldn't  _move_ , he felt frozen in place. “Your son's better off without you, I think. Open your mouth.”

The man shut it tightly, tears streaming down his face.

“Open your mouth or I'll unhinge your jaw.”

Slowly, the man complied.

“Wider. You have a big cock.”

Evan felt all the blood drain from his face. He couldn't possibly... he couldn't... He didn't  _want_ to see this! He shut his eyes and banged his head on the wall, breathing heavily, registering he was rocking back and forth but unable to stop it, the voices coming to his ears nonetheless.

“Please, please, please...”

“We've gone over this already. Rabid beasts like you get to be shot down. Wider.”

And then there were muffled screams and Evan felt a surge of bile coming up and tried to swallow it down, but he raised his head from the floor and retched. He heard a sound, a strange liquid sound, and opened his eyes just in time to see Daken's fist retreat from the man's face, his claws sliding out of the man's  _eyes_ .

He screamed then, raw and shrill, and shut his eyes, scuttling away, pressing himself on the wall. He had to go away, he had to run, Daken was dangerous, was mad, he was going to rape him now, he had to escape, run, run, run. He heard his breath coming out in quick uneven gasps, couldn't control his movements, couldn't escape, he was doomed, he was going to hurt him, beat him, crack him open and torture him mercilessly –

– there was a buzz in his ears, a low strange sound, something oozing through his nostrils, something fresh and clean and pure, something alien slowing his breath, forcing the muscles of his throat to relax.

He could hear distinctly his own breath slow, the gasps quieten, although they still were rapid enough to make his chest hurt.

“Breathe.”

He opened his eyes. Daken sat cross-legged, some feet away from him.

God, he could almost see patterns in the blood on his chest.

“Breathe,” Daken repeated, not even raising his eyes from what he was doing. He held in his hands the device he had taken from the man: he was prodding it with his fingers, a furrow on his brows.

_He..._ Evan tried to speak, but it took a few tries before he could muster up enough air without puffing it out straightaway, “Pheromones. You're... calming... me.”

“Mh-mh. You're hyperventilating. Breathe. Slow and deep.” Still he didn't look up.

_What's happening?_ Evan didn't understand. Couldn't understand. 

There were three dead bodies in the corridor and Daken had killed them. Those men had been sent by Sabretooth to be his escort, as he... disposed of Evan.  _Something's wrong. There's something I'm missing_ . He raised his eyes to look at the man who had tried to rape him. It didn't make sense. Daken had been about to do the same to him, why had he stopped him? 

He had not just stopped him. He had straight up  _tortured_ him.

He had been angry.

He focused on the man. Was that...

Was that  _vomit_ he saw near the man? Evan widened his eyes. Had  _Daken_ –

“Don't look at him. He's dead. You're safe.”

_Safe?_ Evan felt a bubble of hysterical laughter against his mouth. He wasn't safe, he wasn't  _safe_ , he was in danger, he was with Daken, murderer, torturer. He had killed those men.

_That man was about to rape me._

_He stopped him._

_It doesn't make sense._

His eyes fell on the bloodied shirt that covered his groin. That was the most incongruous thing, what stuck out the most to him. It was a single act of kindness that didn't compute at all with the man that had beat him senseless in a cold room.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Daken raised his eyes from the device. Evan's breath caught in his throat, but he stared defiantly at him.

Daken cocked his head to the side. What he said was: “I didn't mean for this to go this far.”

_What?_ Evan blinked.

“Are you calmer now? It's _pointless_ if you're going to have a breakdown again. There isn't  time.” Daken set the device on the pavement. “I'm not going to hurt you.” He held up his hands.

Evan laughed. It was somewhat hysterical, and it died straight away. “You said otherwise.”

“I said a lot of things. You were too terrified to listen. I told you what was happening, but you didn't _listen_.”

Why was he talking in riddles?

Why was he listening to him? The man was dangerous!

Daken snapped his fingers, startling him. “What did I say I was going to do to you?”

Evan felt the bile rise and swallowed it back. “You said you were going to... to... to rape me.”

“Where?”

“Wh – ”

“Where did I tell Victor I would do it?”

“In... in the headmaster's room.” But now they weren't in the headmaster's room. They were very far from it. Why had Daken led the men here, in an isolated corridor?

“Why?”

“To... to make him watch...?”

“How?”

“With... the cameras...”

“Are there cameras in the bedrooms, Evan?” Daken cocked an eyebrow. “If there were, wouldn't they have known sooner that Hiro had nightmares?”

Evan stared at him. But that didn't make...

Of course it made sense, of course there weren't cameras, of course! He widened his eyes. But why say that there were...

… to warn him.

Was this a ruse then? But it didn't make sense, why would Daken...

Unless...

“Are you Hiro?” he breathed tentatively.

“ _Gone_ ,” Daken snarled, and Evan flinched. “Don't fool yourself. The kid's gone. He never existed in the first place.” He shut his eyes for a moment and breathed quietly through his teeth. That was very Hiro-like and Evan bit his lip. _That's not true_ , he thought. _He's still in there. Hiro's still in there_. “Do you understand what I'm saying, Evan?”

“You said you're not going to hurt me.” Evan bit his lip again. It didn't make sense. “You... You said you were going to... hurt me, to...” _Why inside?_ “To bring me inside, to...” _Why? You're worried this is a ruse for me to rush and free the X-men?_ “To... to...” No, _that_ most certainly _didn't_ make sense. “And you said those things about the cameras to warn me.” But it didn't make sense, this was _Daken!_

“Yes,” Daken said, “And this,” he glanced around and grimaced, “This shouldn't have happened. Quentin trying to reassure you set Victor off.” He furrowed his brows and for a moment he seemed almost... worried.

Quentin. Evan felt the blood drain from his face. “I'm sorry about what Quentin did to you.”

Daken looked at him with a start. His eyebrows shot up.

“Did you really believe that? Quentin didn't do anything to Hiro. A lie so ridiculous that it _should_ have alerted you.”

“But you said –”

“That was just a precaution. He was paying too much attention to me. And Hiro had been paying too much attention to him. I gave Victor a reason for that, lest he thought I was concerned with him.”

In what kind of world was that sort of  _accusation_ a precaution? 

“But he didn't deny it!”

“Of course he didn't, he was smart enough not to do so within Victor's hearing range. He handled it admirably.” He hummed. “Smart kid. He shouldn't have warned you, but that _did_ give me something to work on, I hadn't planned that much ahead.” He grabbed the device from the pavement. “But it resulted in _this._ This has been very unpleasant for you. I had to improvise.” He grimaced. “I'm sorry.”

Evan almost chocked. “Sorry?”, he repeated. Daken, sorry, apologising to him?  _He's crazy. He's... like... fighting a battle with Hiro in there. A battle for niceness. Or he's lying. He's playing with me._ Why was he telling him all of this anyway?

“Yes. If I had known one of them was an animal, rest assured I wouldn't have pushed so much. A gross, unrefined miscalculation on my part.” He had that distant, terrifyingly angry look again, and he really didn't seem to be lying on this.

_I wouldn't have pushed so much._

The noises he had heard, before that man had taken hold of him. The way he himself had felt  throughout all of that. They had been...

“Pheromones.” He breathed, “It was you! You... _seduced_ those men to...”

“I overwhelmed them, yes. Had to do so if I was to be able to kill them without one being able to alert Victor. I'm sorry.”

_Don't believe him. He's playing with you._

“Did you do it on _purpose?_ Did that man even have a choice? Did you _make_ him –” he couldn't finish the sentence  as he felt the air suddenly prickle. _Danger. Dangerous question._

Daken's claws where unsheathed.  _ He'll kill me.  _ “That man was an animal. Don't you  _ dare _ say that again,” he hissed. His eyes. Burning. Evan whimpered.

_He isn't_ sorry _. His_ pheromones _pushed that man to try to rape me and he didn't want them to do that and he's not_ sorry _, he is_ angry _about that!_

_ Why is he so angry? _

The pression lifted. 

Daken retreated his claws. “Enough with this. I only wanted to calm you a bit and reassure them.”

_Them?_

Daken held the device in one hand. “I need the identification code and I sure hope it's on your collar. Can I come closer?”

_Them?_

But, more importantly: _Can I come closer?_

“Why?”

Daken rolled his eyes. “I'm going to free you, Evan. Within a hour, possibly. Can I come closer?”

“Why are you asking permission?”

“Because you have just been through a really traumatic experience?” Daken said, cocking an eyebrow, “Because the last time I was near you I beat you senseless? Because you may have triggers?”

This was really... considerate on his part. Hiro. Definetely Hiro. Hiro was still in there somewhere.

“Why do you want to free me?” He still didn't understand...

“Are you being _deliberately obtuse?_ ” Daken rolled his eyes again, “I'm helping you, Evan. Can I come closer?”

Could he? Evan didn't trust him. Not one bit. But he was asking, when he could have done it anyway –

He had  _killed_ those men. Murdered them. Tortured –

He had put a shirt over his groin.

“Yes,” he breathed, “Yes, you can.”

Daken approached him slowly, then crouched near him and studied the collar. Evan tried to stay very still, but he was too close for his liking and he was still half-lying on the pavement.

Daken hadn't stopped beating him when he had slumped on the floor.

He shut his eyes.

“Not going to hurt you,” he heard him repeat. That didn't mean anything. _Don't believe him, don't believe him._ “I don't see anything. It could be on the back.” He heard him inhale. “You need to sit up.”

Evan opened his eyes. Daken was bent down on him, a focused expression on his face.

“Can you sit up on your own?” Daken set each hand on the pavement at Evan's sides. _What is he doing? Oh God, oh God what is he doing?_ Shaking, Evan complied, propping on the pavement the thing encasing his hands. He ended up with his face mere inches from Daken's chest, and shut his eyes, but when he opened them again Daken was already moving behind him. Evan let out a shaky breath and looked down to see if the shirt had moved...

It was still over his groin, as if it had been held in place.

It had been pinned to the ground as he sat up.

Evan couldn't believe this. There was something, a catch.  _He's playing nice_ .

“I see something. Lower your head a bit.” He complied. “Ah!” He heard him tap on the device. A few seconds later, the collar widened and clicked open. It didn't fall on the pavement; Daken catched it and put it on the ground. The thing encasing his hands opened too.

Shaking, Evan brought his arms in front of him. They hurt from having been held so much in that position, perhaps he should be more careful, but who cared? Free. He was free. He hugged himself.

And now he had his powers again. He froze as Daken stood up.  _Should I try and hit him?_

“Get dressed,” said Daken, and left him to ponder on what should he do. _Isn't he worried that I might attack him?_

“Can you control one camera at a time? Try turning this one off and on again.” 

Who was he talking to? Evan turned, and saw Daken look up at the ceiling. He followed his gaze... There was a camera up there!

_The teachers saw everything. He knew the camera was there._

_Has he been acting?_

“Good, I saw it.” Daken sighed and turned, “Get dressed, Evan,” he repeated. He went near one of the men and took off his boots. “I'm going to check every camera we pass.” He took off his shoes and put on the soldier's boots. “I want you to check every entrance and warn me by turning off the camera nearest to me if you see someone coming in.”

“What are you doing?” Evan heard his voice say.

Daken turned towards him. “I'm comunicating with those idiots who got themselves trapped in their own school, obviously.” He cocked an eyebrow. “And get dressed.” He crouched near the soldier and began lining up on the pavement his weapons.

Evan pulled up his underpants and his shorts. He put away Daken's shirt.  _What_ was he doing? This didn't make sense at all.

Daken stood up and went near the second soldier. He lined his weapons on the pavement as well. “Can you throw knives, Evan?”

“What?”

“Of course not. Shoot? No, don't answer.” He turned towards the camera again. “Victor's out there, I counted at least sixty soldiers. Standard gear, nothing too difficult to take down. How many of you in there? Use morse.”

Evan couldn't stay silent anymore. “Why are you doing this?”

Daken held up a hand to shush him, staring at the camera. “Only five? You'll have to do. Is there a code to open the doors?”

Evan stood, a hand on the wall. “ _Why_ are you doing this?”

“I want to prove something. I'm reformed. I have plans and Victor's ruining them. Hiro's screaming and it's annoying. I want to gut Logan. I'm settling debts.” He looked at him. “Pick one.” He turned again to the camera, arms crossed. “Someone's coming to get Evan and Quentin. I trust you already know them? I only caught they're from the future. You _could_ have told me I have a baby brother, Logan. You bad boy.” He pointed at Evan with his thumb. “The kid has a powerful eye blast. Would that destroy your doors?”

“You're _helping_ us,” Evan breathed, amazed. 

Daken didn't turn to him. “How quick you are. Come on, people, the kid. Blast. Could it work?” a few seconds later he spun and kicked a helmet, making him roll towards Evan. “All right, kiddo. Sounds like you're going to save the day. Put that on.”

Evan stared at it, shocked, then at Daken. “ _Why?_ ”

“Do you have a healing factor I'm not aware of?” Daken shook out a bulletproof vest from one of the soldiers and held it out to him. “Here, put this on too.”

“No, why this, why free them?” Evan picked the vest and stared at it. It had been worn by a _dead_ man. He shivered. He complied.

“Should I have taken them down on my own? Too many.” Daken bent down and picked the knives, then stuck them in the space between the border of his boots and his pants. 

_No, you shouldn't have, why are you helping us, you are a villain, you kidnapped me, you beat me! And..._

“The headmaster _killed_ you!”

Daken didn't even flinch. “I hadn't noticed. That's a terrible thing you're revealing to me.”

_What's happening?_ “You should be angry, you should want to avenge yourself, you should work with Sabretooth...”

“Yes, he thought that too. I do so love to play on people's expectations.” Daken stared down at the guns. There were four of them. Evan realised he hadn't taken anything from the _other_ man.  Daken took a belt from one of the corpses and put it on, then shoved two guns in there, keeping the others in his hands. “There's nothing to avenge.”

_Of course there is._ “The headmaster killed you. You should be  _mad_ at him.”

Daken spun on him. “Do you  _know_ me, little man? On what ground? A little frightened  _ghost_ and what I  _showed_ you for a few days? Tare o kamo shiru hito ni semu.”

_I have heard that before._ “What does that mean?”

“It means I feel very accomodating right now.” He wriggled his nose, then put the other two guns in the belt and bent down to pick up something from a body, then he did the same with the other one. He went further down the corridor and picked something from the ground. He returned to Evan and proferred him the three things. They were radios: the one he had picked from the ground appeared to have been cut. “Here. We'll want to know when Victor starts wondering where are we. Make yourself useful and keep them. And put that helmet on.”

“You're a _villain_.”

“Still using labels.” Daken sighed. “Put that helmet on. ”

Evan put it on. “You're a villain!” He repeated, but he grabbed the radios.

“You should learn to work with what you've got. A great life lesson, courtesy of a villain.” He winked at him and grabbed two guns again.

“You'll... you'll betray us.” _He will. I know he will._

“Maybe. Or maybe not. You'll have to live and see. Stay close to me.”

Weapons drawn, Daken slid down the corridor. With a worried glance up at the camera, which couldn't reply to his doubts, Evan shuffled after him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “Oh, enough with the dramatic tension, Evan. Say it and be done with it.” Daken was staring blankly at the camera, as if he were utterly uninterested, as if Evan were talking about the weather.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** Talk of abuse throughout the chapter.

14.

“I don't mind telling you

my life was ended by your hand.

The kind of murder where nobody dies:

but I don't suppose you'd understand.”

Emilie Autumn -  _Gothic Lolita_

 

 

 

They slid down the corridors in silence. Daken was a panther stalking through the walls, his steps measured but quick, his arms to the side, guns drawn, fingers ready on the triggers. He didn't speak; he just walked, sure Evan would follow him, not even once turning to check him. But then again, he could probably notice if Evan were to try something. He didn't know why he was following him, but he  _was_ the only hope they had now. 

Evan walked behind him, eyes on Daken's back. He hadn't even put his shirt back on. The shirt with which he had covered his groin. It was such a strange, odd action, especially after what had happened before.  _He said he had to improvise. He was bringing me inside without anyone else. Would he have done the same, had we been alone?_ There was no way to know. Trying to reconcile  _this_ Daken with the Daken who had kidnapped him was impossible; there was something in between, he was sure of it, they were too different; and Evan thought that that something was surely Hiro. He  _trusted_ Hiro.

But he  _didn't_ trust Daken.

_I_ betrayed _Hiro. I hid things from him. This could have been avoided..._ He shook his head. Dangerous thoughts. He had chosen to trust the teachers to know what they were doing, it wasn't his place nor his duty to resolve the situation which had been created. 

That didn't mean that he felt less horrible about this. The utter sense of betrayal that Hiro must have surely felt... He didn't even dare to talk to Daken about this, he didn't dare to bring Hiro up. He didn't dare to bring up the whole debacle, Sabretooth's role in his death. He could have done it, perhaps, if Daken had showed some willingness to avenge himself with the headmaster.

But he hadn't. And that didn't make  _sense_ .

If only he could understand why was he helping them, perhaps this would have made more sense.

If only he could understand how Quentin could have been so trusting of Daken.

They were, he could see the pattern now, trying to reach the lab passing from the back, as far away as possible from the front lawn. Daken was avoiding the more external corridors, which bore windows.

Perhaps it was safe to talk, then.

“I don't understand,” he began, and waited for Daken to stop him. The man didn't react, so he took it as permission to speak. “I mean, I... I know, you are being all mysterious, it's pointless to ask you again why are you helping us, but you should know that I don't trust you...”

“Good,” came from ahead of him. He hadn't expected him to actually answer!

“How's that good?”

“It means you're not stupid, Evan. I wasn't sure.”

_Uh. Ok, then._ Evan cleared his troath. “What I don't understand... is how could Quentin be so sure everything was going to be alright? He was sure you wouldn't have hurt me, he reassured me on it. But even if he caught up with what you were trying to say about the cameras, it doesn't make sense that he would trust  _you_ on your word!”

Daken didn't answer, so he continued, “I mean... I, I mean, you are a villain. And you're back. I could understand if he thought you were... not yourself, it would make sense, but we knew you were back, you had just proven it to Sabretooth, you said things Hi... your other... your amnesiac self couldn't have possibly known, so Quentin  _had_ to know you were Daken! How could he trust you on your word?”

They took a turn.

“How indeed,” said Daken. He didn't continue.

“I mean, you're a _villain_ ,” Evan whispered. “You... that kind of thing is your _thing_.”

“That kind of thing is my thing,” repeated Daken, and his shoulders shook, perhaps in a laughter; Evan heard an amused puff of breath. “You mean that I kill and torture and _seduce_ innocent bystanders and stand unfazed by it and I – shudders and shivers – _like_ it?”

“... Yes,” he breathed.

“That I cause ruin and mayhem? That I don't follow your little moral codes?”

“Killing is wrong. _Torture_ is wrong. What you did to that man...”

“That man deserved it.”

They entered another corridor. Evan recalled the man's hands on him and felt the bile rising up. He almost dropped down the radios. He swallowed the bile down.

“ _No one_ deserves torture,” he said when he trusted himself with his voice again.

“Oh, some certainly do.”

“Yes, you think that because you're a _villain_. A hero would never...”

“What's a hero?” Daken interrupted him.

“Someone who helps people.”

“Oh dear, I'm a hero now. You heard that, daddy?” Daken saluted to a camera as they passed it.

“Uh, _no_. Someone who helps people, with clear motives.”

“But you don't know my motives. Oh, I'm a hero. Wait till they hear this at the annual villains meeting.”

Annual villains... was he  _mocking_ him?

“Someone who helps people, with clear motives, without killing!”

Daken barked a laughter. “There's no such thing as a hero, then.”

“You're trying to confuse me!” 

“And you're giving up already. If you're going to go down this road, the least you could do is study a little dialectic. Just a friendly advice.”

They entered another corridor.

“You're stalling. How could Quentin trust the word of a villain?”

“How indeed. I'm not in Quentin's head, Evan. He's the one who gets in other people's heads.”

“I mean, you hurt people. It _is_ your thing. And Quentin stood and thought, _oh, that's all right, he won't hurt him._ ”

“Perhaps he knew the threat was an unlikely one.”

They entered another corridor and then slid down the stairs.

“It _was_ a likely threat! You're a villain!”

“You're mistaking me for Victor.”

They entered the corridor leading to the lab. He could see the doors ahead of them.

Evan bit his lip. “But Sabretooth believed you.”

“Victor mistakes me for himself, too. He's very easy to manipulate.”

_Sabretooth manipulated_ you. Better not to tell him.

They reached the doors. Daken saluted mockingly to the camera on the wall. “Here we are.” He motioned towards Evan. “Well go on then, Evan. Save the day.”

Evan stared at him. He carefully put the radios on the pavement, he took out his helmet, and then turned to the metal doors. Well, now all he had to do was focusing on his eye blast and destroy those doors, then the teachers could go and free his friends.

His friends that were in danger because of him.

Because of something he would do in the future.

As Apocalypse.

His blast went out and hit the doors, a ridiculously weak blast that didn't even scratch them.

“What _was_ that?” Daken asked.

“I...” Evan shut his eyes and took a breath, then opened his eyes again and blasted.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened!

“Maybe I'm confused... it _happens_ , when one gets drowned and then stuck in a tomb... but I seem to remember something a little more _fierce_.” Daken said. Evan turned towards him. He was standing in front of the camera, eyes on it, guns ready in his hands.

“I don't know what's happening!”

“I suggest you figure it out quickly. We have a short window only because _you_ , one of the targets, are here and I'm betting they won't go away without you.” Daken motioned towards him, a grimace on his face. “They could decide to leave with Quentin and I'd prefer to avoid that.”

_What?_ Evan thought.

“Focus, kid.”Daken leaned on the wall, eyes still on the camera.

_They could decide to leave with Quentin and I'd prefer to avoid that._ Evan stared wide-eyed at Daken, dumbstruck.

_Quentin. Friend. Did you lie to poor Hiro too?_

“What are you thinking about? Focus!”

_The poor kid. Latching onto you._

_Oh, my God._ Evan shook himself and turned to the doors. Could it be that Daken was feeling a thoroughly distorted sense of protection towards Quentin because of Hiro's relationship to him?

What was their relationship anyway? Hiro had really latched onto Quentin.

Quentin was a target, too. It made sense! But what was astonishing was that Daken had reassured Quentin before even knowing that Quentin was in immediate danger!

He took a breath – he would think about it after all of this, when they would be safe again – and tried a blast again. A weak ray of light tickled the doors.

Daken made an annoyed noise. “What seems to be the problem?”

Evan bit his lip. “I can't... I mean, I can't...”

“Of course you can. Do you need a boost of self-esteem? _Come on, son!_ ” Daken said, falsely cheerful. He modulated his voice as to echo the headmaster's. “I'm sure you have _perfect control_ over your powers.”

But he hadn't. He hadn't, he wasn't sure of them, he feared them. Ever since he had been kidnapped he had known he was something terrible, terrible and twisted and evil, and now he knew he was going to be a villain and kill people. He, a villain!

“What if I can't stop? What if I can't –” he turned to the camera. “They want me because they said I'll become Apocalypse! They want to kill me, stop me before I do anything! Shouldn't they be allowed to?”

Daken made a sound which sounded a mix between an incredulous laughter and a snarl. “Now? You're having an existential crisis  _now?_ ”

“I'm dangerous!”

“You want to make yourself killed, go on and do it, but first you'll open these doors.”

Evan wriggled his hands. “Ask them, ask them what I should do –”

“I somehow doubt they'd tell you to make yourself killed. Daddy killed me to save you.”

Evan winced at the harsh words. More so than that, he winced at the absolute lack of emotion behind the words. “But I'm going to be bad and kill people,” he whined.

“Now's really _not_ the time. It's the future you're talking about, it will take years for it to come.”

“But I will kill people!”

“So what?” Daken said, “Are you asking validation from me? I couldn't care less.”

“But you're a _villain_. I don't _want_ to be a villain.”

“Then _don't_ ,” snarled Daken, “I'm sure you have enough willpower. And even if you were to be, who cares? It's your own damn decision.”

“I _decide_ not to be a bad person.”

“Good,” Daken sighed, “I'm _glad_ we reached that conclusion. Now turn around and open those doors.”

“But... I _know_ I will become evil.”

“Opening those doors now won't make you _suddenly_ laugh evilly, and it won't certainly materialise a white cat on your _lap_ , Evan,” snarled Daken.

Evan turned on the doors and blasted, trying to convey his will to save his friends, but a slightly weaker ray of power appeared. “It's pointless,” he said, “It's pointless. I want to help my friends, but my powers are reacting to my fear, right?”

“To how much control you have over yourself. Very little, it appears.” Daken pinched the bridge of his nose, a crease on his brows. “Apparently you want to see your friends killed.”

“I don't!” Evan said, shocked.

“I'm sure you only need a push. Evan, you don't want to be evil? Don't be. It's as simple as that. You can't be worried about what's to come in, what, twenty years time?”

“It's...” It was... it was the Brotherhood all over again. Pushing to make him do things, to make him use his powers... “You're trying to _turn_ me!” He accused, and walked backwards.

“Turn you?” Daken asked, eyebrows raised. “I'm _helping_ you and I'm trying to turn you?”

“I _knew_ there was a catch! You're evil. You're trying to turn me, like you did before!”

Daken laughed briefly. “Really? Now, now. Do you really believe that if I had wanted to turn you I wouldn't have succeeded? With my command of pheromones? Why, I could have pushed you to your limits and beyond and you wouldn't even have  _noticed_ .” Daken turned his head to look at him and mouthed the last word. “I could have overwhelmed you and made you dance to my tune and you would have followed along merrily,” he hissed, “I could have cut you loose and made you release your powers in a destructive blaze and make you kill people on a radius whose scale you honestly don't want to know, and you would have been  _unstoppable_ and  _uncontrollable_ . A ridicolous risk.” Evan stared at him, shocked. Daken turned his head to the camera again. “I honestly don't care about what you do with your life, Evan. Never cared. You were collateral.” He shrugged. “Here's the truth. You're nothing to me. I'm not trying to  _turn_ you. Cosmic powers do tend to  _overdo._ Open those doors, be a good little hero. I have no intention to stay overnight.”

Collateral. Evan stared at him.

How  _dared_ he? He had hurt him! He had beaten him, he had tortured him! What for, then?

“Collateral to what? What was your plan? Why did you beat me?” He asked, his voice coming out strangled, “If I was collateral, why did you do it? If you didn't even care, what did I bled for? Was it a game to you?”

“ _What_ did you just say?” Daken was staring at him, the  smug look lost. For a fraction of second he almost seemed Hiro, what with the way he had widened his eyes and had blanched. 

“What did I _bled_ for?” Evan cried, “What was the point? What was your grand plan? Was it worth it? Did you enjoy yourself? Was it a game to you, some sort of sick, twisted –” 

He couldn't end the sentence because Daken suddenly bent down and retched. Evan froze, mouth wide open. Daken was staring at the vomit, nostrils flared, pupils blown wildly. He was  _shaking_ . 

Evan took a step towards him, worried, and raised a hand. “Hiro...?”

“ _Gone!_ ” Daken snarled, “Oh, but he left me a present. A fucking _present!_ ” His head bobbed and he retched again. “I'm not... I'm not, I'm _not_...” he shut his eyes tightly. He wiped his mouth on a hand and slowly, still shaking, straightened himself. He banged his head on the wall, breathing loudly through his nose. 

“What do you want, Evan?” he asked after a moment, eyes still closed. “Apologies? Explanations? What I did to you suited my purpose. It was _nothing_. You lived through it. A beating never killed anyone.”

“It wasn't _nothing!_ ” Evan screamed. “It was something to _me!_ You purposely hurt me and I want to know why!”

“Every minute we pass in here leads to Victor wondering whether I'm still ravishing you,” Daken said, very slowly, as if he were talking to a child. He kept his eyes closed. “We're running out of time. Open those doors!”

Evan spun on the doors and blasted them. It was more powerful than the others, but still it didn't destroy them. He turned on Daken again. “Nothing! Now answer me! You hurt me! Why?”

Daken let out a shaky laughter, his head rested on the wall.  He seemed utterly exhausted.

He still didn't answer.

“You _hurt_ me!”

“I only beat you. Live with it, Evan. I'm a villain, why do you even _want_ explanations?”

“Because deep down you _must_ know it wasn't right! I'm sure of it! _Hiro_ knew it wasn't right, he apologised to me!”

“Hiro was _not_ me.” He opened his eyes. They were dark tunnels. “That you think he was is laughable.”

“He was, he was you when you were a kid, when you knew that abusing pe –”

“ _I'm not Romulus!_ ” Daken shouted, spinning on him. “I didn't abuse you, I only _beat_ you!” His nostrils flared and his eyes widened for a second and then he gritted his teeth and seemed to recompose. His features just went _blank_ and he settled on the wall again, the picture of composure. “Open those doors,” he said, voice  flat.

What had just happened? Evan stared at Daken, confused. “Who –”

“Open those doors.” Voice flat. He wasn't even _looking_ at him. He was looking at the camera. He had just discarded him like a used thing, like something he had no interest over.

Evan stood at the center of the corridor, staring at Daken, exhausted and mildly nauseated. What was the point anyway? Why did he care why a villain did evil things? He should be grateful he was helping them at all and keep it at that. Evan turned on the doors again and tried a few blasts in quick succession. Still the doors remained closed, mocking him silently. He had to help his friends, he had to do something! Quentin was out there, alone, he risked to be kidnapped and killed. He counted on him to save him!

No, he didn't. He counted on Daken.  _How_ could he count on Daken? Evan tried another succession of blasts. Daken was a  _villain_ . He  _killed_ people. He had  _hurt Evan_ . And yet Quentin had let him go with Evan without a thought, he had trusted him with Evan's life. He had blindly accepted that Daken had been going to help them.

_Why?_ Evan blasted again, frustrated. It didn't make sense! He couldn't have just trusted Daken on the ground of knowing Hiro.  They weren't the same person.  He knew Hiro, yes; he had passed weeks with him, helping him; they had been almost inseparable since the accident in the garden. There was something, something nudging at the back of his mind, and if only he could understand... He turned again to look at Daken. The man hadn't moved, his face a careful mask. He really had  a command of his facial features. Why had he lost it before? He had  _shouted_ . He had heard him shouting only once before, and that hadn't even been him, but Hiro. What had upset him?

“Who's Romulus?” Evan asked.

Daken didn't turn. “Ask Logan. I'm sure he'll gladly whine about it with you.” Voice flat. Still.

“I'm asking _you_.” Evan took a step towards him. Daken was focused on the camera and didn't aknowledge him. “Why did you say you're not him?”

“Because I'm not, evidently.” He looked at him. “Shouldn't you be worrying about more pressing things? Like those doors?” Daken stared back at the camera.

“But who is he?” 

“You're not letting this go, are you?” Daken asked. He wriggled his nose. “He's the person who brought me up.” He didn't seem to be willing to say anything else. 

Ah, the mysterious  _him_ . He remembered now. Hiro hadn't even managed to say his name. Now that he thought about it, Hiro had been  _terrified_ . Why? Confused, he turned on the doors again and blasted. They were steady blasts now, but they were still too weak. He had to focus on these doors, now, he couldn't afford to lose time on this. He blasted again.

Except... Why had Hiro been terrified by a person he couldn't possibly remember? It couldn't just be the idea of having been brought up by this person, he didn't know him... The blast died out as he widened his eyes. He spun around.

“Did Hiro remember this person?”

Daken blinked a couple of times. “What gives you that idea?”

“Oh, but it's obvious!” Evan smacked his head. “Of course! He was terrified by the mere thought of him, so of course he remembered him! It doesn't make sense otherwise!” Daken was very still. “It was among the other nightmares! Right?” It occured to him that he was being very rude, that this wasn't his business, that damn, there wasn't _time_ , but he wanted to elicit a response from Daken. “Why had he nightmares about him?” And why had Hiro not talked about it? “Did he... uh... beat you? That's why you said you weren't him? No, that doesn't make sense, because you beat me, so you wouldn't have said that, so what else...” he trailed off as Daken's face went blank again. Nothing on the surface, just smooth skin and dead eyes as he stared blankly at the camera.

“Those blasts are too weak,” he said, voice flat again, “Aren't there weak spots at all? He could focus on those.”

He was changing the subject again. He should leave it. It wasn't any of his business.

He  _couldn't_ leave it. Evan stared at Daken's face. It didn't express anything, it seemed a mask. What could be so terrible to make a vicious man like Daken shut down like that? What was he hiding?

Hiding. A conversation at lunch, Quentin trying so hard to make him talk to Hiro, speaking in riddles.  _If you knew what I know, you'd be hiding your heads in shame._

_Quentin-san has seen. He understands like they can't._

_What has he seen?_ Hiro looking back at Quentin before answering. Quentin sighing at Hiro's answer.

“Quentin. He didn't see your parents' deaths, he saw something _else_.” He had vomited as soon as he had exited Hiro's mind. “He saw that man.” He had seen that man, doing... what? _I only_ beat _you._

_He_ could _have done a lot worse. And he_ didn't.

_I didn't abuse you, I only_ beat _you!_

_Oh, God. Oh, dear God._ Evan put a hand on his mouth. 

The utter viciousness with which Daken had tortured that man.

_I have spent so much time thinking about what I could do to you. So much time._

_This shouldn't have happened._

_Nothing can stop scum like you. You just do it again, and again, and again..._

_That man was an animal._

_You like to go around, raping little kids._

“Quentin _knew_ you wouldn't have  carried out that threat, he knew that I was safe.” he said slowly. _Perhaps he knew the threat was an unlikely one._ “Because... because...” he felt a surge of bile coming up. _Crying all over you. Spilling all his secrets_. “Because he had seen...” 

“Oh, enough with the dramatic tension, Evan. Say it and be done with it.” Daken was staring blankly at the camera, as if he were utterly uninterested, as if Evan were talking about the weather.

But he  _wasn't_ talking about the weather. “You...  _you_ were... you were...  _raped_ .” Evan whispered.

He stared at Daken. The man was perfectly still, eyes on the camera.

Why wasn't he saying anything?

Daken cocked his head to the side. “Well, that  _was_ anticlimactic.” He shrugged. “While you were having your ill-timed epiphany, they came out with a plan. So,” he came towards him, face perfectly calm, and faced the doors. Evan turned towards him, struck speechless by his aloofness. “Now they'll hit the doors where you should direct your blasts. Be silent. If you know what the word means.”

How could he be so calm? Evan stared at him, horrified. The man who had brought him up had abused him and here he stood, the picture of composure, a bored look on his face. Oh, but that was a ruse. A mask. He had lost it before, so Evan knew he  _cared_ . Evan knew he was a little frightened kid, deep inside, and he could help him, he could save him, he could bring him to the good side. He had been abused,  _that_ was the reason why he had turned out so evil! Of course!

A faint sound from the other side of the doors. Daken pointed with a gun to a spot high up on the left door. “There,” he said. He could save him. He was sure he could. He only needed to make him talk.

Another sound. “There,” pointed Daken again. Everything would be fine. He wouldn't try anymore to kill the headmaster. They would talk and resolve this, and Daken would become a good guy.

Another sound. “There,” pointed Daken. It was so obvious. He was angry with the headmaster because he had been left alone in the clutches of a monster, no way out of it.

“And there.” There was the issue of the headmaster killing him, but that had been Sabretooth's fault, surely Daken would have seen reason!

Yes, Evan was sure now. He had a mission.

“You have to direct your blasts on those spots and hit them in sequence. First the higher up, then go clockwise. We'll keep at it for a bit and then they'll try to smash the doors from the inside. Now _focus_.” Daken returned to his spot, eyes on the camera again.

Evan got to work, blasting the first spot. “You can talk if you want.” He blasted the second spot. “I mean, if you need to. I'm here.” He blasted the third spot.

“I'd love to share sob childhood stories, Evan. I'm sure you have many interesting insights, having been brought up in a computer simulation.”

Evan blasted the fourth spot, angered, but didn't react. Ah, he couldn't fool him anymore. He was just hiding behind a rude mask. “I think talking could be good to you.” He blasted the first spot again.

“Oh, _no_. Don't tell me. Are you really doing this now?” Daken seemed amused. Evan blasted the second spot. “I'm supposed to suddenly have a breakdown, cry about the unfairness of life, ask for help while sobbing helplessly, and all that?”

Evan blasted the third spot. He ached to look at Daken, he wanted to see his face. “I didn't say that.” He blasted the fourth spot.

“No, no. You're too polite for that. Too proper. You're _expecting_ that, though. You _want_ me to do that. You're basically salivating for it. You and your messiah complex.”

How could he turn his kindness into something so devious? “I'm just offering help.” He kept at hitting the spots in sequence.

“Help. What makes you _think_ I need help?”

“You can't be ok.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can't! Not with what happened to you...”

“What _happened_ to me? Evan. You don't _know_ what happened to me.”

“I have a very good idea.”

“ _Do_ tell. It could be interesting.”

“You were... assaulted,” he said, “By that person. When you were little. That's why you brutalized that man. You can't tell me it doesn't haunt you still, because you wouldn't have tortured him otherwise! You were angry, it was personal!”

“Ahhh. I get it. You think rape is the worst thing that could happen to someone. Sweet, sheltered child.”

Evan lost the rhythm of the blasts for a moment. He felt his blood run cold.

_There is_ nothing  _worse than that. Expect death, maybe? Torture?_ Evan blinked and resumed blasting the doors.

“You want to lay me bare.” Daken's voice was soft and mocking. “You think you've got me figured out. I could indulge you. Would-be-psychiatrists are mildly amusing with their assumptions. Please, do continue. The last one who played this game was a disappointment. What else? What other dark secrets do you seek to unveil?”

“You're hiding behind words. You _care_. You are not evil. You're helping us!”

“Ah, I'm a softie at heart and I could do so many good things if only I wanted to. Are you playing that card?”

“You were forced to do terrible things. I'm sure you wouldn't have turned out like this if only –”

“I was forced? Yet again the same old things. Forced to do what?”

“Forced to be a killer! I _know_ that because Hiro –”

“Hiro _was_ a killer, Evan. I killed a boy when I was nine, and then the wailing baby birthed by that bitch. Hiro shared that past with me. Oh, you're _surprised_ that sweet Hiro was a _killer?_ ” Daken snorted.

Hiro had not been a killer. He was sweet and always kind and attentive. He couldn't be a killer!

“But why stop there? I was assaulted, you say. Don't you want other titillating details? How? When? How many times? All my life, perhaps? Who knows.” Evan felt his blood run cold again, at the sudden, utter _lack_ of emotion in Daken's voice. He kept blasting. _I got him to talk. The headmaster is hearing all of this, he will have something to work on after we free the others._ “Do you want to know? You shouldn't ask questions whose answers you can't stomach. Oh, you want me to talk. You self-righteous little kid. You pity me. Pity is for the weak-minded.” His words were darts, pronounced precisely, not a hint of emotion behind them. Evan kept blasting. He felt nauseous. “Pity is for the fools that know nothing. Pity is for those that want to shove their self-righteousness down other's throats. Pity is for self-made psychiatrists and theorists of what-could-have-beens. Assaulted. Ah. Assaulted. Oh, yes. Alas, poor me. As if I cared. Sex is nothing. It is nothing more than an act. An exercise. A weapon. There are better ways to damage someone, crueller, more effective. It doesn't have to be physical to cut deep. Assaulted? Yes. Countless times. I learned an important lesson the first time.”

Evan was shaking, but kept on blasting. He wanted to turn towards Daken, see his face. It couldn't be possible that he was saying all these terrible things with a straight face, he had to be affected somehow. He couldn't just feel  _nothing_ at all, it was terrible.

“What did he _do_ to you?” He asked, utterly miserable, on the verge of tears.

“There are no _words_ for what he did to me.” There, a _crack_ in Daken's voice. He had heard it.

_He..._ Evan felt like throwing up. “You  _loved_ him.” He swallowed the vomit and kept on blasting.

“I've had this same accusation get spluttered at me once. I tire of it. But of course, everything has to be simple and neat, put in tidy boxes. So yes, as you say. We'll make a Logan out of you, Evan. You think you understand everything. You think you've got it all figured out. You think you've got a right to _unmake_ me.” The voice was straining, was losing its blankness. “You think you can look at me and ask me why don't I _confide_ in you and you even manage to look hurt. Why didn't Hiro tell you about the nightmares? Why didn't he tell you about _the man in the dreams?_ Why did he confide in a teenager? Because you have this _tendency_ at making it all about you. Because you'll make _this_ , too, about _you_ now. I know it. I _know_ it. _All_ about you, _everything_ about you, _always_ about you. Everything has _always been_ about you. You're the _center_ of the world, aren't you? _Aren't you?_ ” 

_He's not talking to me._ Evan turned towards Daken, the blasts forgotten. Daken was talking to the camera, eyes ablaze, face set in an angry snarl.

“Why do you hate him so much?” Evan asked, “You're getting it all wrong. The headmaster loves you –”

“Love me?” Daken turned towards him. “ _Love_ me? God protect me from a father's _love_.”

“You make it so hard! Why? He's your father! He is trying! Why don't you give him a –”

“Yes, _he_ is, isn't _he?_ Of course _he_ is.”

“What's your problem? Your father _cares_ about you –”

“ _Care?_ ” Daken shouted. “Care? Wake _up_ , child! _No one cares!_ Logan? Logan cares only about himself. And that's all well and good, I can respect that, I _respect_ that, but he's a hypocrite. He thought he was the only one entitled to pursue revenge. _He took it from me!_ ” he shouted, “He's so self-centered that he diminished all that I've been through to a slight to him. To _him!_ ” Daken shouted, “He claims Romulus ruined _his_ life; what has Romulus ever _done_ to _him?_ He's killed his _wife?_ Ohhh, poor _Logan_. He's kidnapped his _son?_ Oh my God, poor _Logan_ , it must be so _hard_ to _him_. He is trying, give him a chance. _He_ is _trying. Ah!_ ” He let out an incredulous sound and slammed his hand on the wall, eyes on Evan, “ _He_ is not the one who got shoved _up_ against a wall,” he slammed again, “and _fucked_ by his father figure at eleven. And then again,” he slammed, “and again,” slammed, “and _again_ ,” slammed, “and _again,”_ slammed _, “and again_ , _time_ after time, _year_ after year, till it stopped being _rape_ , till it _had_ to become something else _entirely_ or I would have lost my damn mind.”

Evan hiccuped and brought a hand to his mouth, tears in his eyes, shocked by the sudden bluntness.

Daken was staring at him with utter hatred. “Ah, no, don't you _dare_ cry,” he said through gritted teeth, his lips curling in an angry snarl, “You pushed and pushed and _pushed_. You brought this up, you'll listen to this. To. All. Of. This. Oh, and he'll _listen_ , too.” There wasn't mercy in those eyes, there wasn't self-control at all. There was a malicious, angry glee. _He's lost it. He's gone and lost it. He could even hurt me._ Evan walked backwards, tears in his eyes.

“Romulus was my _father_.” Daken spat the word. “I hated him with every fiber of my being; and I loved him with every fiber of my being. He crushed me down and built me anew; he schemed and lied and used me, and I was fine with that. Fine. He _knew_ me: he appreciated what I was. He gave me the keys to the kingdom with a _pat_ and a _fuck_ but he never gave me the only thing I ever _wanted_ from him.” His features contorted in an ugly mask. “My first father _loved_ me; but when he saw what I was, he killed himself. He said he was weak. He _was_ , wasn't he? My second father made me _his_ in ways you'll never understand, but I wasn't anything to him. It was about Logan; it's always _been_ about Logan. _Everything_. What did I bled for? What for? What was the point? I gave up everything, he kept me on his _lap_ and took _control_ of me and I ended up with nothing! I let him do _things_ , Evan, things that would make you want to claw your eyes out. I _degraded myself_ for him. He was everything I _had_.” He shut his eyes tightly and let out a terrible laughter, a laughter which seemed to come straight out of hell. “So when I learned of Romulus' lies, I tried, I tried really hard. I thought – oh, this is ridiculous, Evan, it's _hilarious_ – I thought _That's it. That's it. This one will have to love me. I come from his loins: he'll have to love me_. Oh, but Logan never listened. Never saw _me_. He saw a _spot_ in his carefully polished little armor of lies and hipocrisy. He saw a little kid lost, deranged, damaged. He never actually stopped to think. He says he loves me, no matter what I am, but he lies, because at the same time he speaks of what-should-have-beens. He thinks things should have been different, he thinks _I_ should be different. He blames it on Romulus and he doesn't even _get it_. He understood I loved Romulus but he shut his eyes because he was afraid to actually understand what it really _meant_. He saw everything in black and white, he thought I was after Romulus' _power_ , and it was true, but nothing's ever quite so simple. He _kept_ me from killing Romulus, he _took care_ of it. How _dared_ he?” Daken's eyes were slits. “He was never his to kill; he was _mine_ , mine to _kill_ , for everything he _did_ to me, for what he _didn't_ do, for fifty years of being my _master_ , my _lover_ , my _father_ , of _denying_ me. Logan denied me _closure._ Romulus was my everything and Logan denied _that_ , denied all I was, all I _am_. He seeks to _fix_ me. I'm not broken, I do not require _salvation_. There is no secret cure, no hidden recipe. I am what I am because I already was all this, deep inside, in my bones. But he doesn't _see._ He doesn't _want_ to see. My being here is proof enough, don't you think? He saw an opportunity to _bend_ me to his morals, to rebuild me, _exactly_ like Romulus. They're the _same_ and he damn well knows it. So _I_ stopped _trying_. It's not even worth it. If he looks at me and all he sees is a broken toy, it's not –” he caught himself and his nostrils flared. “Get to those doors quickly,” he hissed, and spun on his heels, guns pointed at the other end of the corridor. 

_What? What's happening?_ Evan dried his tears with the back of his hands, still sobbing silently.  _Why has he –_

“Victor,” Daken said, voice flat again, “Not another step.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “You're right,” Daken said, voice soft and meek. “He doesn't care about me. I've always known that.” Evan felt the blood drain from his face and turned. Daken still stood in front of him, but he appeared to be slowly lowering the guns.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning! Graphic depictions of violence!**

15.

“You're so easy to read, but the book is boring me.

Pray for me, if you want to.

Pray for me, if you care.

Pray for me, if you dare.

Pray for me, you fucker, if you fucking dare.”

Emilie Autumn – _Misery loves company_

 

 

Evan froze as a loud clapping sound came from the opposite side of the corridor. He stared at Daken's back, terrified, as the man moved, positioning himself in front of him.

Daken fired once. “Not another step,” he repeated, voice flat. He seemed to have completely recovered from his outburst. The amount of self-control that would require would be unbelievable. Evan shivered.

“Sorry! Didn't want to interrupt. It was a beautiful speech. Only wanted to get the boy.” Sabretooth's voice came from far ahead. He wasn't too close. Evan was shaking: the only thing between them was Daken. He moved a bit and peeked at the corridor. He didn't see anything. But the voice echoed strangely; he must be on the stairs. “Thought ye were having an orgy in here, with how much time ye were taking.”

“Oh, I did have an orgy.” Daken adjusted slightly his stance. “Mildly disappointing. They couldn't keep up.”

“Youth these days, eh?”

“Indeed.” Daken sighed. “What can I do for you, Victor?”

“I would very much like the kid, son.”

“I'm afraid that won't be possible. Evan, be a dear and keep at what you were doing.”

Evan turned on his heels and blasted on the doors, trying to keep himself from shaking too much. He could hear faint echoes from the lab. Sabretooth must have entered while Daken was having the breakdown he had been so damn sure he wouldn't have had. Evan cursed himself. Oh, he shouldn't have pushed so much. Not on someone who had just recovered from an amnesia. He must have had all of that bottled up, fifty years of abuse recovered in a matter of seconds.

“Stay _there_ , Victor.”

“I need the kid.”

“I can't, daddy would be angry with me.”

“Are ye ok, son?” Sabretooth asked, sudden concern in his voice. “Ye seem confused. You don't know allies from enemies anymore. The runt must've made a number on ye. Come to me, I'll help ye.”

“A... number on me?” Daken repeated. His voice seemed suddenly off. Evan froze.

“Why, yes. Logan's using ye. Always known he would've done it. We've talked about that, remember?”

“ _Yes_ , I remember.” Soft and dubious. _Oh sweet Lord, no. No, no, no._ Evan whined.

“Exactly!” Sabretooth said. “He's brought ye here, he's tried to _mold_ ye. He doesn't respect ye as he should. Never has. He's always tried to _hide_ ye.” Evan's breath hitched. _He's trying to manipulate him again._ Was it really that easy to play Daken?

Desperate _for some fatherly adoration, kid was a_ snap _to manipulate_.

“But...” Daken said hesitantly, “He's brought me here, at his school. You said he wouldn't ever do it, but he _did_. He's showing me that he cares.” He didn't seem convinced at all by what he was saying.

“No, he doesn't, not really. He doesn't deserve ye. He doesn't _get_ ye like I do... Here, come here. Give me the kid. Ye're wasting time trying to protect him, trying to be something ye're not. Logan will never accept ye for what ye are.”

“You're right,” Daken said, voice soft and meek. “He doesn't care about me. I've always known that.” Evan felt the blood drain from his face and turned. Daken still stood in front of him, but he appeared to be slowly lowering the guns. Evan scuttled to the doors, pressed himself on them. He was doomed. Why hadn't he warned Daken about Sabretooth earlier, why? Now it would be impossible, everything that he would say would be countered by Sabretooth with much more firmness. He heard the faint echo of shouting from the lab.

“Ye hear that?” Sabretooth said, “Just like I said. He's cursing himself because his ploy didn't work. Ye retrieved yer memories, ye're _strong_ again. Ye're _tough_. Nothing like him.”

“Yes,” Daken said, lowering his arms a bit more as he spoke, “Of course. You're right; how could I think he would notice me? How could I think he would respect me?” His arms were almost down now. “You're right. He doesn't deserve me. He'll never accept me and _blah_ ,” he suddenly spat, raising his arms again, “ _Blah_ ,” fingers on the triggers, “ _Blah_.” Guns pointed on the corridor again. Evan widened his eyes. “I'm sorry, that's way too degrading.”

“Junior? Are ye –”

“You _insult_ me. Give me some credit and try a tiny bit _harder_ , will you?”

Evan stared at the man in front of him. What had just happened? Had he been pretending to fall for Sabretooth's words? Daken turned slightly his head towards him. “Evan? Why have you stopped with the blasts?” He whipped his head to the corridor again. “I said stop right _there_ , Victor.”

“This won't give ye what ye want. Logan will never –”

“ _Still?_ Are you stupid? Victor.” Daken shook his head. “Victor, Victor, _Victor_. What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm trying to help ye. What did Logan tell ye to make ye believe –”

“Because it _seems_ to me that you're trying to manipulate me. I wonder what lead you to theassumption that you _can_.” Evan stood speechless. “I _am_ curious. What gave you the idea that I am some stupid child for you to play with? Oh, wait.” He cocked his head to the side. “Wait, wait, _wait_... It's coming to me. It's this _amnesia_ , you know, I'm forgetting things... Ah!” He exhaled softly. “Yes, I recall now. What a _disappointment_. The infamous Sabretooth, taking me under his wing and explaining to me such grand plans. What a honor. Stop right _there!_ ” he fired and Evan heard Sabretooth curse. “Evan, get to _work_.”

Shocked, Evan turned on the doors and blasted. This had taken an unexpected turn. He had been sure Daken was about to give him to Sabretooth, but now... what was happening?

“Oh, all right then, runt.” Sabretooth growled. “I was trying to be _nice_. Give me that kid and I won't kill ye.”

“Not a _chance_ , dearie. You can come and get him, of course, but I have the tactical advantage here. And... are you _hurt?_ ” Daken's voice was soft and mocking.“I smell your blood. My, _my_. Could it be it's not going how you planned at all?”

“Oh, it's going exactly as planned, don't worry,” spat Sabretooth, “As for the rest, I'm so _sorry_ to tell ye this, but I _have_ manipulated ye.”

Daken gasped. “Oh! When? You played me so masterfully I didn't even notice!”

“You couldn't _have_. I played ye right into your _death_ , junior. How's that?”

Evan's breath hitched. They were showing off like peacocks, bantering and rubbing things in their faces. Daken was trying to buy him time, but Sabretooth would tire soon. This was going to get bloody in very little time. He kept on blasting. He had to trust Daken now. What would he say to that revelation? He had to be angry!

“Oh, _that?_ ” Daken laughed softly. He seemed utterly unimpressed. “You're so cute. Isn't he _cute_ , Evan?”

No, Sabretooth wasn't _cute_ , and Evan was beginning to question Daken's sanity now. Why wasn't he angry?

A question that seemed to be in Sabretooth's mind, too. “Are ye nuts? I've just told ye –”

“ _Yes_ ,” Daken interrupted him, “Yes, yes, your silly little plan to get back at Logan for being better than you. You must be desperate for his attention. Nothing that a good fuck wouldn't cure, I tend to think. Have you tried? I think he's straight, but hell, you could give it a chance.”

This was getting weirder and weirder. Evan could hear his own heart beating loudly as he kept blasting the doors. He could hear faint noises from the other side, they were trying to smash the doors from the inside.

“Well, _boy_ , if he's submissive like ye I could give it a try. So meek and eager, weren't ye? So desperate for his attention, too. You _do_ have a daddy kink, I wasn't sure of it. Squirming under me like a _whore_ , whining about Logan _as I fucked you raw_ , calling me _master_.”

“Oh, well, Victor, _darling_ , I was doing you a _favor_. You were so entranced in your alpha antics, I didn't want to disappoint you,” Daken said offhand.

“Ye're so full of shit,” said Sabretooth, and he seemed annoyed, “So _full_ of shit. Ye're playing with words, twisting the truth, desperately trying to _stall_.”

“Of course I'm stalling, Victor, that's quite _obvious_. But I'm so _relieved_ that you noticed. With the disturbing blindness you were showing the last time, I was worried about you. _Could it be that the infamous Sabretooth is so stupid?_ I asked myself. Why, yes. The answer was _yes_. So entranced in his convoluted plan that he played right into my hands.”

Sabretooth laughed heartily, his booming voice echoing in the corridor. “Oh, this is too funny! Please, continue! I've got time _aplenty_ , they're coming.” Alarmed, Evan prayed the blasts were beginning to have an effect, because he was feeling exhausted.

“But of _course_ , Victor dear. You see, Evan,” Evan started as Daken called him, but kept on blasting, “no one in there believed for one _second_ that that ridicolous plan to ensnare you was going to work. Well, no one except those three poor lambs sent to slaughter... and _me_ , apparently. Caught between my _desperate need_ to prove myself to Logan and the _confused state_ I was in, I was so easy to manipulate, wasn't I? Like clay in Victor's hands. Victor, the grey eminence, whispering all manners of ridicolous things in my ears. I sure hope Mystique didn't fall for it, it would be disappointing. _That idiot_ , they must have thought. _How can he believe that he can_ control _Apocalypse?_ Ridicolous. I told you before that you were collateral, didn't I? Turns out I was collateral, too. I've been worse. It's a perfect position, really. There's no freedom quite like the freedom of being constantly underestimated.”

Evan was shaking. He didn't understand everything Daken was saying, but he did get that he had been nothing more than a toy for that band of villains to play with. He kept on blasting, enraged by the aloofness with which he was discussing how they had played with his life.

“So, anyway,” said Daken, “There I was, lying low, recovering, minding my own business, having deep thoughts, mind-shattering revelations – I won't bore you with the details,” he sighed, “when in comes waltzing Victor. He takes care of me for a while and I think _why not_ , he's useful to have around, and I _am_ curious about what he wants. Then he starts his game... oh, and _what a game_ it was! It was fun, it really was! Wasn't it? I've had so much _fun_ , Victor!”

“I think ye're crazy, junior.” Sabretooth's voice was amused but there was also a hint of puzzlement, of doubt. Evan thought that Daken was probably losing it pretty badly, and it was to be expected since he had awoken not a hour prior.

“ _Awww_ , Victor, don't say that, you hurt me! It _was_ fun to watch you splutter _nonsense_ to try and get under my skin, it _was_ fun to hear you pulling all that father figure _crap_. I expected better from you, it was all pretty standard. And some things were patently _ridicolous_. I wanted you to keep me entertained while you set the stage for me, but the only entertainment I got was the restraint I had to call upon whenever you said things like,” Daken cleared his throat, “My _personal_ favourite,” he cleared his throat again, “ _You're not Pan_ ,” he said mockingly, and his voice mirrored almost perfectly Sabretooth's, “ _You're a pirate_.” Daken sighed. “Be grateful I didn't laugh in your face there and then. Although, your reaction could have been interesting. It was such a tedious affair, all things considered.”

Evan felt the blood drain from his face. He wasn't stalling at all. He was _taunting_ and _provoking_ Sabretooth.

He had to make the teachers come out of there, quickly.

Sabretooth wasn't answering. “Oh, I know what you're thinking, Victor. _He's one to talk, he's been manipulated all his life._ Well, at least it's never been something so saccarine, so crass and blunt. Hell, _Logan_ successfully manipulated me _twice_. Do you realize this means he's more intelligent than you? I know, it _shocked_ me too, let that _sink in_ for a moment.”

Sabretooth growled. Evan's breath hitched. _This is going to be a bloodbath, why he is doing this?_

“So ye played me,” said Sabretooth, “ _Congratulations_ , runt. So ye had a secret plan like _everyone_ in there. What a surprise. I'm still the only one who got out of there with his hands full. And I played ye, too, in the end. Tease all ye want, I still managed to get ye killed.”

“Oh, dear, you're not _listening._ My plan succeeded, thank you very much. Did yours?”

“Ye _died_ , junior.”

“Yes,” said Daken coolly. “Exactly.”

Evan's blast died out and he stood there frozen, staring at the doors. No. He hadn't heard correctly; he _couldn't_ have heard correctly. It wasn't _possible_.

Daken was still talking. “My plan, Victor, was _your_ plan. Only a bit _enhanced_ , you know.”

Silence settled then. Silence from the lab, too, gone were the faint noises he had managed to hear. Evan found he couldn't breathe, such was the absurdity of what he had heard, the thought that he was really considering whether it would be true, whether Daken had really used them all in a sick suicidal game.

“Don't be ridicolous –” began Sabretooth.

“Ah, come now, Victor, you should _thank_ me. The way you were running things, we would be in there still. Logan would never have killed me without some well directed _pushes_. I'd been wondering, those days... How were you going to have him do it? You were relying on me to make a fool of myself, but what if I _hadn't?_ You hadn't really thought about it, had you? Lucky you, I was there.”

Speechless, stupefied, Evan turned. Daken was still in position, guns trained on the corridor, not a hair out of place. “Evan, _continue_ , we haven't got all day,” he snapped. Evan started and turned and resumed blasting. “Evan here was a nice touch.” Daken said then, and Evan felt as if a great wave were coming over him. _No, this isn't possible. This is –_ “I did something so _evilly evil_ that Logan couldn't have spared me even if he _tried_. The gut-wrenching conclusion to a thoroughly _pathetic_ and, dare I say?, _fake_ heart to heart. I bet you were watching, Victor. Did you enjoy the show? Were you laughing your ass off? Did you _believe_ in the sloppy childhood story? That certainly put Logan in the mood. _Nannies_.” Daken snorted. “Oh, but I digress. I was talking about Evan. Sweet Evan. What kind of monster beats a poor child like that? It was the sad confirmation that I had to be put down, that I was out of control. So over the top it's a wonder no one asked how _could_ the child be still alive. Oh, but it takes commitment to beat a child making it seem the work of a rabid animal while not hitting anything vital. It takes precision. Here he is, safe and sound. _Right_ , Evan? Did I damage any organs?”

Evan's breath caught in his throat. _This is absurd. This is –_

“Evan? Be a dear, _answer_. Did I damage any organs? Have you had health problems of any kind?”

He hadn't _had_ health problems. His organs had all been checked and had been, and were still, fine. The only mementos from the beating had been the slowly fading bruises.

 _You were collateral_. Oh, but Daken was crazy. He had used him – he had _beaten_ him to – to make himself _killed_ from the headmaster? _That_ was why he had said there was nothing to avenge?

No, he wasn't crazy. He simply... he simply didn't care at all.

Why was he saying all these terrible things _now_ and not when he had asked, why was he being so cruel?

“... No,” he answered, and kept on blasting because he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he knew it.

“See? So you're welcome, Victor. _Yes_ , I saved your ridicolous plan. Hope you appreciated it.” Daken hummed. “Judging from the fact you filmed it, you did. God, I hope you don't _masturbate_ to that video.”

Sabretooth laughed briefly. “This doesn't make sense, junior. It's ridicolous. Admit I played ye and stop twisting the truth.”

“But _this_ is the truth, Victor,” said Daken coolly, “Oh, you still don't understand, do you? I. So desperately. Wanted. To _die._ And you. Oh, you. _You_ were so _helpful_. You gave me the means and the stage, thinking you were playing me, and you were doing _exactly_ what _I_ wanted. I know it steals the fun from your silly little plan. I'm sowwy,” he added mockingly, in a childish voice. Evan could imagine him curling his lips like a child and shivered.

“So ye're mad. Figures.”

“Oh, you know, I was in a pretty dark place at the time. But you see, that's the beauty of it: even at my lowest, I am _way above you_. One could ask what the hell did Romulus find in you.”

“That's pathetic,” Sabretooth spat, “Ye're _pathetic._ ”

“No, it's _pathetic_ that you thought you could replace Romulus and bend me and fuck me _over_.” Daken said, and there was an angry undertone to his voice. “It's _pathetic_ that you _wish_ you were him, you _wish_ you had his elegance of thought, the daring perfection of his schemes. It's _pathetic_ that _you_ , Victor, are nothing but an unrefined animal.”

Sabretooth laughed. It was long, and it was angry, and it was definetely amused. It sent shivers down Evan's spine.

“Oh, Daken. Ye're right. I'm nothing but an unrefined animal. Ye, on the other hand, are _so_ intelligent. But ye made a mistake.”

“Oh, _did I?_ ” Daken seemed wryly amused.

“Why, yes. Ye made a mistake, out there. A pretty _stupid_ mistake. Ye've given me something to use against ye. And I _did_ use it.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” There was definetely _alarm_ in Daken's voice. Evan stilled, frozen on spot. _Alarm_ in Daken's voice didn't bode well.

“Well,” Sabretooth said, “I was _bored_.”

“Stay _there!_ ” Daken fired.

“Oh, let me get a little closer, ye ain't gonna notice otherwise.”

As the noises of smashing from the lab began louder than before, Evan turned to look at the scene. Sabretooth was in the corridor, blood all over his arm, which lacked a chunk of flesh.

“I was _bored_ ,” he repeated. “And ye were in _here_. Ye were having _fun_ ,” he shrugged, “And I thought: hell, I'll have the _other one_.”

“Should I care?” Daken said, and although the voice seemed aloof, Evan caught a hint of rage, a barely held strain. Daken kept the guns trained on Sabretooth, but didn't shoot. He was completely still, the muscles of his back tense.

“Well, I thought ye _might_. Ye were so _close_.”

 _Oh God._ Evan blanched. _Is he talking about –_

“You're lying.” Daken's voice was flat.

“Am I? Here, let me get a little closer. My blood is covering it, but ye should smell it soon enough.” Sabretooth took a couple of steps towards them very slowly, an expectant look on his face.

And suddenly Daken's arms were faintly _trembling_.

“ _Ah_ ,” exhaled Sabretooth, and his lips curled in a grin. “ _There_. That face I _like_. Who would've thought ye were so similar to the runt?”

“I'll _kill_ you –” growled Daken.

“He was _delicious_ ,” Sabretooth passed his tongue over his lips. “So eager. _Rrhh._ He was a wanton little thing.”

 _No_. Evan thought. _No, no, no, no, no, no.._. It was a mantra and it wouldn't work, couldn't work, Daken was shaking, why was he shaking –

“What is he talking about?” Evan cried, “What has he _done_ , what is he talking about?” But he knew perfectly well what was Sabretooth talking about, didn't he?

“Isn't he _cute_ , Daken? So innocent. Perhaps I'll _have_ him, t –”

Daken fired.

Once, twice, thrice, he stepped up and fired, fired, fired. Sabretooth was laughing, taking the hits without even wincing, an arm in front of his face to protect it. He was coming towards them, saying, “Hell, if I'd known it would've affected ye so badly, I would've dragged him down here –”

Daken threw the guns away and picked up the other two, he fired, fired, fired, “The _doors_ , Evan,” he said with a strangled voice and then leapt and lunged at Sabretooth, who stepped aside and grabbed him by the arm and shoved him down the corridor.

“ _Sloppy!_ ” Sabretooth taunted. Daken skidded down the corridor, came to a halt and went to his feet, turning towards them. Evan's breath hitched. His face held a haunted, angry snarl, his eyes so wide Evan could see the red from this far. He unsheathed his claws and –

He seemed to _blur_. Evan blinked, what –

Sabretooth keeled over, two knives in his chest, as Daken swirled and stuck his claws in his neck, did something with his feet that made Sabretooth almost fall –

– but he grabbed Daken's ponytail and yanked, Daken's head whipped backwards with a crunch, they were so close they could have been kissing. Evan was _frozen_. Sabretooth grabbed Daken's upper arms and pulled; there was a sickening sound and then an _arm_ flew away, Daken being flung in another direction. Evan screamed as Daken's head hit the wall, Daken slumped on the pavement, not moving –

Sabretooth turned towards him. He grinned, blood gushing out of his neck, and took a step towards him. Evan scuttled to the doors, pressed himself on them –

Sabretooth gurgled as the point of a knife stuck out of his neck. He turned, Daken was crouched low, blood coming out of his ears and spraying from the place were his arm had been connected to the shoulder. His face was an angry mask. “All you've got?” He twirled up and threw the last knife, but Sabretooth dodged it: it hit the wall. Sabretooth lunged and tackled Daken to the ground. He stuck his fingers _into_ Daken's neck, blood spraying on his face, and twisted, but Daken's hips went up and he somehow reversed the position, stabbing Sabretooth's other arm to his stomach at the same time. Sabretooth growled and twisted deeply the fingers into Daken's neck and Daken stared down at him with a horrible bloodied snarl. Sabretooth twisted again. Daken didn't react in any way but twisted his claws in Sabretooth's arm.

“I'm going to feed you your _entrails_ ,” he snarled, voice rasped from the damaged vocal cords, but still audible, “I'm going to make a necklace out of _your teeth_ and _choke you_ with it. Bastard, _animal_ , son of a _bitch_ –”

“Oh, wow, ye're _pissed_ ,” Sabretooth laughed in delight. He stuck his hand deeper and his nails appeared on the back of Daken's neck and he grabbed him down, face inches from his own. Sabretooth bit Daken's face and pulled away with a sickening sound; the arm in which Daken's claws were stuck jerked and Evan stared wide-eyed, unable to move, as Sabretooth stuck his hand into Daken's stomach and managed to roll them over by twisting it inside. He choked Daken as he went to his feet, then twisted out both his hands from him and kicked him hard on the side, making him roll over and skid on the pavement, a trail of blood and _something else_ behind... Evan felt like throwing up at the sight but swallowed it down as Sabretooth turned towards him again.

“ _Come_ to uncle Victor, Evan,” he said, and he took a couple of steps towards him, but Daken tackled him from behind with his arm and flung them onto a wall. Sabretooth growled as he grabbed Daken's arm, which was trying to claw him madly, and twisted it viciously as he straddled Daken on the pavement, snarling, “How are ye still _moving_ –?”

Daken laughed hysterically, blood coming out of his mouth, gushing from his neck, from his stomach. A piece of his skin was leaning from his cheek. “You can't do anything that hasn't already been _done_ , Victor.”

“One could get _ideas_ ,” snarled Sabretooth, and stuck a hand into Daken's stomach again, ripping it open. Evan shrieked and pressed himself on the doors. _I have to do something, I have to do something, I have to – to –_

He started hyperventilating as Sabretooth clawed _things_ out, as Daken _laughed_ and laughed, “So _unimaginative!_ ”

Sabretooth snarled and grabbed Daken's pants and pulled them down. Daken laughed again and _spread his legs_. “Should it _scare_ me? Come, fuck me, I've had far worse things up my ass than your tiny –”

His voice died out as Sabretooth's hand drowned in his chest and pulled his ribcage open, clawing out his spine. Daken arched into the movement, eyes wide, his head rolling backwards, but didn't even cry, how could he not feel pain? He tried to claw Sabretooth, but it was a weak attempt. Evan could hear his breathing, a wild unsteady whistle.

“ _Silence_ at last,” snarled Sabretooth, “Think ye're so _smart_ ,” and grabbed Daken's head –

 _No, no, no, no,_ no!

Evan blasted madly, blasted with everything he had. He _had_ to help Daken! The ray hit Sabretooth, burning him, and pushed him away from Daken, away, away, till he hit the wall opposite the doors of the lab and slumped down and didn't move. Evan approached Daken, wary, eyes still on Sabretooth, and blasted again at the monster for good measure.

He reached Daken. Daken was... impossible to look at, but Evan focused on his eyes, only on his eyes. _Don't look at his body, don't_. One eye was bloody and stared at the ceiling; the other one was moving madly all over Evan.

“Daken?” He asked softly.

Daken seemed to have a seizure. “Doors,” he rasped, “Stu... pid... kid.” He searched wildly for air. “Help... Quen –” the sane eye rotated madly and he stilled.

Evan hiccuped. _Calm down, calm_ down. He spun on his feet, shouting, “Get away from the doors!” He blasted at them and they shattered to pieces.

He hiccuped in relief and fell on his knees beside Daken as the teachers came out running. He could see them in a blur, as if there were tears in his eyes. _Oh. Oh. Oh_. _Oh my God._ He hugged himself. The headmaster skidded to a halt in front of them, on his face a mix of emotions that Evan knew he couldn't even begin to understand, but professor Drake grabbed him by the arm and pushed him towards the stairs. “Not now,” he said. Professor LeBeau was behind them, he did a double take and Evan heard him say, “Mon Dieu.” Professor Husk was shouting, “Go, go, _go!_ ” Evan burst out crying, relief and dread finally paying their dues.

Professor McCoy was going towards Sabretooth. “ _Go_ , I'll secure Sabretooth!”

Soon there was silence in the corridor, silence disturbed only by professor McCoy dragging Sabretooth's limp body towards the lab and by Evan's raw sobs. Professor McCoy stopped in front of them for a moment. Evan heard him murmur, “Dear God.” He continued to the lab. Evan heard noises from the inside, but he didn't _care_. He turned towards Daken.

The man was completely ruined, the smell sickening. Evan swallowed down the vomit and forced himself to _watch_. He lay there, his organs exposed or on the pavement, a pool of blood under him, his limbs broken or absent. He had been _protecting_ him.

No. No, no, he hadn't cared a bit about him. Not one bit. He had beaten him. He had been downright cruel, he had been only a tool for him to – to die and – and he had only cared about freeing Quentin – and Quentin – Quentin –

He felt a presence beside him.

“You've been very brave, Evan,” professor McCoy said quietly.

Evan sobbed madly. “He's dead. He's... he's... he's _dead_ , he's...”

Professor McCoy knelt on the other side of Daken and hovered his hands over the man, perhaps not sure on what to do. Eventually he settled them on Evan's shoulders.

“I'll patch him up,” he said, “He could wake up. His healing factor should –”

“ _Don't bury him!_ ” Evan screamed, “Don't _bury_ him, don't you _dare_ , don't you –” he tried to catch his breath. _Don't you dare make him go through this again, don't –_

“No.” Professor McCoy sighed and squeezed his shoulders. “No, we won't.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Hank sighed. “I'm trying to determine whether it was genuine concern for another person's well-being or an instinctive reaction due to the... ah... _delicate_ nature of Hiro's relationship with Quentin.”
> 
> I know you're worried about a certain character. Please, have faith.
> 
>  _credits_ : "There's no freedom quite like the freedom of being constantly underestimated" is a quote from Scott Lynch's _The Lies of Locke Lamora_.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** Underage ( **not** literally, be at ease. But it's the closest definition possible and I prefer to warn about it).  
>  Also, mentions of rape throughout the chapter.

16.

“I couldn't be your friend:

my world was too unstable.

You might have seen the end, but you were never able

to keep me breathing as the water rises up again,

before I slip away.”

Emilie Autumn – _Opheliac_

 

 

It had been pretty simple from then on.

After that nightmare, after those prolonged moments of anxiety and helplessness, after having seen his revived son almost assault Evan and then proclaim his intention to help them (to the surprise and relief of the assembled X-men), after having seen him recite with utter aplomb terrible truths and then finally lose his self-control and shatter Logan's heart to pieces, save the children was relatively easy.

After having seen his son brutalized like that by Sabretooth, he was anesthetized to everything.Even to the thought that he apparently had orchestrated his own death by Logan's hand.

But he hadn't had time to think about that as they had rushed up the stairs. He had stopped thinking and focused on freeing the children.

Thank God the Brotherhood's contact hadn't showed up yet. The soldiers hadn't stood a chance against them; in fact, most of them had fled when they had seen them, perhaps thinking they hadn't been paid enough to actually _face_ a team of X-men. They had freed the children already and sent Quire and Hisako to Beast when grown-up Molly Hayes had shown up.

She hadn't gone out without a fight: she had fought tooth and nail, accusing them of not seeing they were committing a terrible, terrible mistake.

“You'll die. You'll all die!” She had shouted, “Don't you see that? You should thank us!”

Eventually they had taken her down and given her the same courtesy the Brotherhood had allowed the children, binding her and putting one of those collars on her. Property of S.H.I.E.L.D.: Logan had recognised the design.

Then there was Psylocke's team to get to, and a search party for Broo to organize, and the children to reassure, and Maria Hill to warn, and Logan had put Daken on the back of his mind. He couldn't think about him, not while surrounded by people. He could have had a breakdown, but he had had to keep it together for the children.

He had lain wide awake that night, Ororo trying to confort him, but she hadn't seen, she hadn't heard, she couldn't know, couldn't understand the _horror_ he had felt and still felt. _That_ was what his son thought about him? Had he really denied his son the only peace of mind he could get? Was it too late for them? Perhaps it had always been too late. It had always been, and he had been so focused on himself, on his needs, to notice.

The children had told him what had triggered Hiro's transition to Daken. His death, by his hands.

His death, by his hands. The death he himself had orchestrated.

 _I. So desperately. Wanted. To_ die.

He needed to talk to him. He needed to understand, apologize, do _something_.

In the morning they all converged on Hank's lab to see Kymera depart for the future with Molly Hayes and the Xavier look-alike. His other son – wasn't this a terrible irony? – hadn't been found; he had vanished along with Mystique, her cover in S.H.I.E.L.D. blown up. _Raze_. They would see him again, he knew it. It had been him who had kept in check Hank's mainframe, right under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s nose.

Ororo hugged her daughter and watched her go with a proud smile on her face. The girl had passed the hand on the fur of her panther, an uncharacteristic shyness suddenly on her features, and had returned the smile. “Well,” she said, “See you on the other side, then.”

“I'll wait for it,” answered Ororo.

When the light came out and they were gone, there really was only one thing to talk about.

“So,” began Betsy, as the others exchanged glances, “Daken. What are we going to do?”

Logan sat down. “Aren't we gonna wait he wakes up, at least?”

“Why? Do you hope he's amnesiac again?” Betsy retorted. Logan shot her a shocked glance. “He can't stay here. He helped us, that's fine, we're grateful, but he can't stay here. He's dangerous.”

“I don't think he would _want to_ , Betsy,” said Logan through gritted teeth.

“Unless he has some _scheme_. Unless he thinks he has you tied around his little finger, now, because he helped us.”

They didn't _know_. They had no idea: only those who had been in the lab the previous day knew. And Ororo, of course.

LeBeau came at his rescue. “Don't think he will. I think he will want to stay as far away as possible from here and from Logan for a long time.”

It had been a furious, terrifying confession and Logan knew Daken would never had said all of those things if he had been in _control_ of the situation, if he hadn't been stuck there, if he hadn't had to stay and be forced to keep his eyes on the camera all the time while subjected to Evan's unmerciful scrutiny, knowing Logan was watching.

Betsy looked at LeBeau, brows furrowed. “What _happened_ down here?”

“Terrible things,” shot Bobby. “ _Leave_ it.”

“Evan woke up screaming tonight. We're entitled to know, I'd say,” Rachel said.

“Of course he did,” Hank said, “Apart from the thing with the soldiers,” everybody grimaced; that had been said, because their corpses, including the brutalized rapist, had been still in the corridor when the others had come back, “He saw a man die to protect him and I _assure_ you it wasn't a pretty death.”

Logan fidgetted on his chair. “How is he?”

Hank sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He twirled in his chair and turned on the cameras, showing the infirmary.

Daken lay on a bed, his arms tied to it, probably for his safety.

At least everything was in its place now.

Quire sat on the bed next to him, talking with Hisako, gaze on Daken. He was eating something; probably something she must have brought.

Hank pointed to a screen which monitored Daken's vitals.

“Still the same. The damaged tissues have repaired themselves overnight, but he's in a coma right now. I... took the liberty to contact Reed, Logan. I thought he may have insights, since he tried to treat him before.”

“... ok.”

Hank was looking at him, gaze unreadable. “I also asked him to check... a thing for me. I'm calling him now.”

A few seconds later Richards appeared on screen, Johnny Storm peeking from behind.

“How's Daken?” was the first thing that left Storm's lips, without even a greeting. Logan squinted his eyes at him. Richards rolled his eyes.

“Good morning, Henry, everyone. How is Daken?”

“Comatose. But he's healed.”

“He should be awake already, from the descriptions you gave me. Mh. So that drug _had_ an everlasting effect. Notify me when he wakes up, please.”

Hank nodded. Storm was fidgetting behind his brother-in-law. “Is it true? Did he help you? Died protecting a child? Why didn't we know he was with you and amnesiac? I could have come there, help him remember!”

Logan's eyebrows shot up. “Is there something I don't know, son?”

Storm _blushed_. “No.” Richards was looking sideways at him.

“Johnny. You know –”

“Yes, well, I want to _talk_ with _him_.” Richards didn't answer, but sighed. Storm continued, “I've _read_ your report, McCoy! That was brutal! Did he do it for a child? Is he... is he...” _reformed_ went unsaid.

“About that.” Richards nodded towards Hank, who straightened up in his chair.

“Did you manage to –?”

“Yes. And you were _right_ , Henry.”

Hank sighed heavily and almost slumped on his chair.

“What about?” came from Betsy when none of them said anything.

Hank sighed. “Remember when the sensors went crazy during the fight?”

In the mayhem that had followed Daken's attacking Sabretooth, Logan really hadn't payed too much attention. He had been too focused on trying to smash the doors and on the audio from the camera reporting terrible sounds, other terrible things being said.

 _You can't do anything that hasn't already been_ done, _Victor._

“Oui,” said LeBeau. Bobby nodded.

“You are torturing yourself over that fight, Logan,” said Hank, “You are thinking that you could have helped Daken, had you been out there.”

That was true. If only he had managed –

Hank looked straight at him. “Daken knew _perfectly well_ what he was doing. We were running out of time and Evan was the only chance.”

“What are you talkin' about?”

“He sabotaged his own fight. I suspect this was to shock Evan enough to snap out of it and open the doors.”

“ _What?_ ” Logan exhaled.

“It's true,” interjected Richards. “I've analyzed the readings from the sensors. Adrenaline, testosterone, other things in such high quantities that you wouldn't want to push so much in a close fight with someone like Sabretooth. When he was closer to Sabretooth he riled him up, pushing his aggressiveness.”

Bobby seemed about to throw up. “No, wait. He subjected himself _willingly_ to Sabretooth's torture? He _caused_ it?”

Hank nodded. “More than that. He fought to _lose_. Something seemed off about that fight. It didn't match with Daken's fighting style at all. Remember the videos from the warehouse? A different thing entirely. Sloppy, rushed, risky. Even taking into account his rage at Quentin's... situation –”

“Quentin Quire?” Storm asked, “What has he to do with Daken?”

They told him.

“Oh, wow.” Storm stood straight up, an hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Is... is that good?” He looked from face to face. “I mean, he... he doesn't care...”

Hank sighed. “I'm trying to determine whether it was genuine concern for another person's well-being or an instinctive reaction due to the... ah... _delicate_ nature of Hiro's relationship with Quentin. He was still transictioning, he had just woken up, it's possible he was struggling with Hiro's instincts. He certainly seemed less than self-controlled.”

“Delicate nature?” Logan asked.

Hank cleared his voice. “I've talked to Quentin. He refused to go into details, but Evan got it right: he saw Romulus. He saw a thing Daken talked about,” he said very cautiosly. Logan understood just fine and felt his blood run cold. Ororo put a hand over her mouth. “Hiro _begged_ him not to tell anyone. He had been having those dreams since the beginning. Hiro... told him the dreams were always _different_.” Logan blanched. Why hadn't he –

 _Because you have this_ tendency _at making it all about you. Because you'll make_ this _, too, about_ you _now._

Logan gritted his teeth.

Betsy crossed her arms. “Hiro had been having _flashbacks_ and Quire didn't tell us? What was he thinking?” She looked from face to face. Logan exchanged glances with the others that had been in the lab; none of them said a thing, thankfully. “Am I the only one shocked by this? Quire put his classmates in _danger_. What could have happened if Daken had woken up in a different situation?”

“He didn't,” said Bobby quietly.

“He _could have_. He could have _killed_ the kids! God knows he threatened to do it before.”

“That's beside the point.” Logan said. “You were right, he woke up because something clicked in him when he saw me kill him. Probably the _only way_ he could've woken up.”

“But we didn't _know_ that, we weren't _sure!_ ” Betsy was shaking her head. “I'm sorry, but Quire's behavior has been irresponsible.”

“Quentin's behavior has been nothing but _mature_ ,” interjected Hank. “His reasoning was right and perfectly sound. He told me that he thought _Hiro_ should decide whether to share those dreams with other people. And I happen to _agree_ with him.”

“ _What_ –” Betsy furrowed her brows, taken aback. “What kind of flashbacks are we talking about?”

“The bad kind,” said Hank, and left it at that, mercifully. “Anyway, Quentin showed up in the middle of it and he managed to wake Hiro up during a particularly delicate moment.” He closed his eyes. “He quite literally _conditioned_ Hiro to calm down at the sound of his voice, at the touch of his hands. He didn't mean to, but that's what he did.” He sank deeper in his chair. “That's why I bound Daken's arms to the bed. I'm worried about what will he do to Quentin once he wakes up. If he really, somehow, genuinely _cares_ about Quentin, he won't do anything. If, on the other hand, he decides that it was nothing more than a _lie_ , a conditioned reaction _Hiro_ had, something _he_ has no interest over–”

“You're worried he will attack him?” Rachel said. “Why is Quire there in the first place?” They looked at the screen showing the infirmary. Quire was on the bed, staring at Daken. Hisako had gone away.

“He wants to talk with Daken. I gave him permission.” Hank said.

“I'm sorry, but you just _said_ –”

“I guess I'm curious myself. I want to see how will he handle it. There _is_ the chance he'll see it as a threat. But Quentin's perfectly capable of stopping him.”

“Why a threat?” Storm asked, “Do you think he'd see it as a weakness?”

“It's more complicated than that,” Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. “That's just a theory of mine, but I think Daken _needs_ to be in control. It goes _beyond_ the sociopathy: it's the natural consequence of his upbringing. He needs to be in control not to _lose it_ completely. Someone keeping what he _could_ perceive as a _leash_ on him? He could get very angry.”

Silence fell: they stared at the screen for a while, at Daken's unconscious body lying on the bed, at Quire staring at him worriedly.

There was nothing else to say and the classes were about to start, so they decided to stop the meeting there. Storm asked to be notified at Daken's awakening. It seemed important to him, so they agreed.

Logan had to focus on his classes for the rest of the morning; he tried not to think about Daken, about Romulus, about what this could mean for them. There was something at the back of his mind.

Hiro not wanting them to know what Romulus had _done_ , Daken trying to avoid at all costs to talk about it, putting on a careful mask and failing miserably as Evan kept on insisting...

Hiro not wanting to be touched by him, backing away from him.

Hiro screaming, terrified, the _moment_ he had seen Logan.

There was something at the back of his mind and it filled him with _dread._

He passed by the infirmary every now and then, to check on Daken, but he didn't dare coming inside. Quire seemed intent on staying in there till he talked to Daken; he hadn't showed up to any class and, after talking about it with Hank, Logan had decided to permit him to take the day off. After all, after what he had been through the day before, a break _was_ what he needed. Perhaps they should have given it to Evan, too, but he had showed up to class as if nothing had happened. Logan hadn't expected Quire to want to pass the day with Daken, though, waiting for him to wake up. And according to Hank, he had passed the _night_ in the infirmary, too.

If there was a leash, Logan thought, it was kept by the both of them.

Quire had been extremely protective of Hiro and now Logan understood why. But he was projecting this on Daken, now. Logan didn't know what to think about that. It was mildly worrying, it couldn't be healthy for Quire; God knew what would Daken do once awake.

Daken _had_ been worried about Quentin, at least in those moments. But now that Hank had expressed his doubts, Logan couldn't help but ask himself: had Quire not helped Hiro, what could have Daken _done_ once awake, the day before? Could he have allied with Sabretooth without a thought? There was no way to know.

That afternoon, Daken woke up.

 

* * *

 

“ _Trust me,” Daken said, and bent down on him, his eyelashes quivering as he kissed him. Quentin kissed back, hungry, and moaned as Daken pressed him on the couch. “This,” Daken said, “_ This _wasn't here before.”_

_Quentin arched against Daken, a prayer on his lips._

“ _I'll thank you better,” Daken murmured into his mouth._

 _Quentin shivered, his hands running on Daken's sides._ Please. Please. Please.

No. This is wrong.

“ _I don't want sex in return!”_

_Daken lapped his neck. He looked at him from beneath his eyelashes. “I want to know what it feels like.”_

“ _I don't want anything.”_

“ _I'll help you.” Daken kissed him again, lazy and hungry. “I never had friends before.” He put a hand on his hip._

 _Quentin was trembling in anticipation and denial. “I'm helping you because I want to help you,” he said, voice strangled. His breath hitched as Daken hummed against his neck, slowly grinding against him. The friction was unbearable. He arched into the motion,_ _clawing Daken's back._

Please. Please. Please.

“ _I don't want to hurt you,” Daken murmured softly._

Forcing yourself upon a poor kid, Quentin.

“ _This – is – wrong!” Quentin shoved Daken away._

_Daken stared down at him with hard eyes._

Such hunger. Such self-control.

_The Phoenix looked at him, eyes ablaze, and burned his soul._

“ _I never had friends before,” Hiro said. A child covered in blood, naked, sitting cross-legged on a table._

“ _I'm sorry.” Quentin cried, kneeling in front of him. “I'm sorry. Hiro, I'm so sorry, so sorry.”_

“ _He hurts me for my own good.” Hiro kissed him on the forehead. There was the print of a hand on his neck. “_ Naniwa-zu ni – Sakuya kono hana – Fuyu-gomori _,” he chanted, voice childish. He put his little hands over Quentin's face. “_ _I would not_ do _those things, I would not ever, ever. Trust me. You're my friend.”_

“ _Ye shouldn't trust him,” Sabretooth said, a grin on his face. “Oh, what did he tell ye? Daken_ lies _.” He scratched Quentin's hips with his nails, drawing blood. “Ye're so pre-e-e-e-tty.”_

_He laid him on the grass, he pulled his pants down._

“ _He abandoned you.”_

No he didn't.

“ _He left you.”_

He will come.

“ _He left you.”_

He will come.

_Broo screamed –_

A hand touched his shoulder and he jerked awake with a short scream, wide eyes focusing on Hisako's worried face.

“Jesus... Christ,” he exhaled, noticing he was breathing heavily. “Hisako, you scared the shit out of me!” He touched his face. He was crying.

He sat up on the bed as Hisako straightened up. He was in the infirmary, and it was morning.

He immediately looked at Daken's bed, but the man was still unconscious, the machines buzzing quietly. He sighed and dried his tears, returning his attention to Hisako.

“Sorry,” she bit her lip, “I didn't mean to scare you. It's just... you were having a dream,” she turned beet red, “And then it seemed to turn into a nightmare, so –”

Quentin looked down at himself, at the spot dampening the front of his trousers.

_Wonderful._

“No, it's alright.” He put a hand over the spot, “Thank you.”

Hisako nodded and sat on the bed, letting her sack fall on the ground. “Did you... did you pass the night here?” She asked quietly.

Quentin nodded.

“Did you sleep at all?”

Sabretooth bent down on him.

Broo screaming.

He shivered. “A bit,” he answered, “Just now, I think.” He shrugged. “Broo?”

Hisako sighed. “Still in the woods.” She reached into her sack and brought out a paper bag. “I brought you breakfast.”

He thanked her and pulled a croissant out of the bag. He bit it and chewed slowly, eyes on Daken. Seeing the wounds closing overnight had relieved him.

Seeing the terrifying state he had been in when he and Hisako had reached the lab had shaken him. He had shouted, his heart almost stopping, and had run to the table. There had been so much blood, its sickening, sweet scent had filled his nostrils, and he had been unable to answer, staring at the dead body in front of him, as Beast asked him whether he was fine.

Fine? How could Beast ask whether _he_ was fine? And then they had told him what Sabretooth had said. Evan had hiccuped in relief and hugged him tightly –

“Quentin,” Hisako said quietly. “You should talk with Idie.”

“If Idie wants to talk with me, she can come here.”

Hisako sighed. “She won't. She's angry. She says it's Daken's fault –”

“Oh, yes, it was,” Quentin interrupted her, whispering furiously. “It's his fault that Sabretooth's a creep, it's his fault that the Brotherhood wanted me and Evan, it's his fault that Broo saved me. Silly me.”

“She's worried that Broo will never come back from –”

“Broo _saved_ me.” Quentin cut her out. “I'm worried about him too, but where would I be if he hadn't... I'll tell you. A bloodied lump on the grass.” He shivered.

“She says Daken should have –”

“– _should_ have? He _shouldn't_ have done anything. Logan _killed_ him!” Hisako winced. _Daken made the headmaster kill him_ , Evan had said. But surely he hadn't wanted to be _stuck_ in a damn tomb and lose his memories. _That_ had been Logan's fault.

Those had been confessions, though.

“Be damn grateful he helped us,” he continued. _I think he was protecting you, Quentin._ “Daken did the only thing he could have done, he went and freed the teachers. He couldn't have done anything on his own.”

“I agree with you, Quentin!” Hisako said, “I'm just telling you what Idie said! And anyway we are _all_ grateful!”

“Yeah, I see the queue out of that door.”

“The classes are about to start...”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Quentin finished the croissant in a few angry bites.

“I just mean –”

“I'm _not_ getting out of here till Daken wakes up, Hisako.”

Hisako sighed. “Quentin. I was Hiro's friend, too. Or at least, I tried. I failed him. But Daken is _not_ Hiro. You have to understand that.”

“I'm not that stupid, you know.” Hiro was a fraction of Daken. A tiny fraction.

A fraction that had experienced the most horrifying things one could imagine, without the protection of an adult mind.

 _Fifty years._ He shivered.

 _You should be there when he wakes up_ , had said Evan, hugging himself, as they watched Beast patch Daken up. _He just went crazy. Sabretooth said_ –

_He was worried about me._

_You conditioned him, Mr. Quire._

“I _met_ Daken.” Hisako said. “He's not... he's different from Hiro.”

“I _need_ to be here.” He had been worried that the same thing that had happened to him had happened to Quentin. Not that Hisako could understand. Bless her, she had no _idea_ . He _needed_ to see him there.

Hisako sighed again. “Oh, all right. I –” she reached into her sack. “Here.” She put in his hands Hiro's tablet. “Just in case. If he starts speaking Japanese, use this. And call me.”

“Thanks.” Quentin put the tablet on the bed. “You think he might be amnesiac again?” God, he hoped not.

Hisako shrugged and went to her feet. “Better safe than sorry. I hope he'll be ok, Quentin, I really do. But don't hope too much.”

She caught her sack and off she went. Quentin hugged his legs and put his chin on his knees, staring at Daken. He shivered recalling the dream – not Hiro's nightmare, but the dream Hisako had woken him from. God, it had been all twisted and tangled and fucked up. A shrink would have had a field day with him. _What's the matter with me?_

He spent the morning looking at Daken.

Sabretooth had _noticed_ when he had searched frantically for Hiro's face. He had caught something was going on, something that was much different to what Daken had said had happened. When Daken had accused him of raping Hiro, for a moment Quentin hadn't understood what was happening. But then he had remembered their conversation of that day, fresh as if they had talked the day before. All their conversations. And he had understood that Daken would help them.

And then Sabretooth had caught onto it. It had been his fault, Quentin knew it. He should have stayed calm and collected, he shouldn't have warned Evan. But Evan had seemed so terrified! He hadn't understood Daken's hints.

Those long moments when Sabretooth had decided he would have had his way with him had been terrifying.

And then Broo –

 _Jesus. Jesus Christ. You're wrong, Idie. It wasn't Daken's fault, it was_ mine.

At lunch Trevor showed up, bringing him something to eat. He shuffled his feet on the pavement and apologised for having believed Daken's words. Quentin felt very gracious about it, Daken had been convincing, he had _had_ to be convincing – but oh, it stang that so many of them had believed that he was capable of something like that – and told him he forgave him. He asked again about Broo: he was still in the woods, but apparently Rachel was with him now.

And Idie still wouldn't see reason.

Trevor went away almost immediately and Quentin prepared himself to other hours of waiting, but soon Daken woke up.

The machines buzzed louder and Quentin sat straight up on the bed and the lines on the screens jumped and Daken jerked awake, exhaling, “– tin.” Wide-eyed, he whipped his head towards Quentin immediately.

He stared at him.

He stared at him, pale-faced, and didn't talk.

His eyes were _huge_.

He tried to get up, but his arms were tied to the bed. He glanced at them and then back at Quentin and still _he wasn't talking._

Quentin swallowed. _Here we go. Ok, I can do this._ “Hey,” he said, very quietly. “Please don't be alarmed. You're tied because we feared you could hurt yourself.”

Daken didn't answer, his gaze flickering all over Quentin.

“You're among friends,” Quentin continued, “Do you remember who you are?”

Daken was staring at his hips, his eyes getting even wider. What... Ah. The bandage was visible, wasn't it?

“Do you remember who you are?” Quentin repeated. Daken's eyes flickered again to his face. “Do you understand me? Oh please, not again. I'm sorry.” He blinked back the tears. “Nihon-go? Wakarimasu ka? Tomodachi wa. Mate.” He made to get up from the bed.

“Why are you here?” Daken asked suddenly, voice thick. Quentin sat back, startled. “ _Why_ are you here? Where –” Daken glanced around. Quentin tensed. _Calm down. He's not asking_ who _am I_ . “Shouldn't they _cuddle_ you? Why are you _here?_ You should hate me. What _are_ you, some sort of _martyr?_ Get out. _Get out!_ ” Daken almost shouted, voice tangled with – with what?

 _Uh. Uh, shit._ Angry denial? Guilt? Could it possibly be? Quentin swallowed and tried not to cry again. He had to be _very_ gentle and reassure him –

“No!” Daken snarled, “No! No, _no!_ Don't look at me like that. I left you alone! I _left_ you –”

Quentin felt the blood drain from his face. He got up from the bed. “It's all right –”

“Nothing's _all right!_ ” Daken snarled. He raised his head from the pillow. “Nothing will ever be all right,” he said, softly, “Did they tell you something like that? They lied. They always lie. No one cares. No one cares. You must learn that, it's very important, care about yourself, only about yourself,” he seemed feverish, he was murmuring so fast; he wasn't really there, he was lost in something else. Quentin stood frozen. “No, no, nothing's _all right_ , it will _burn_ you, it will eat you alive, I should have brought _you_ inside, you wouldn't have been believable enough, but I should have, I _should_ have –”

“ _Nothing happened!_ ” Quentin grabbed Daken's right hand. “ _Nothing_ happened, nothing happened!”

Daken stopped his mumbling and stared at him for a few seconds. “You're not lying.”

“I'm _not_.” Quentin said forcefully. He squeezed Daken's hand.

Daken frowned in confusion. “I _smelled_ you on Victor. I smelled your scent. Your blood. Your sweat. Your fear. Your terror.”

That was mildly disturbing. “Nothing happened.” He repeated. “It almost –” he recalled Sabretooth's grin. “ _Jesus_ . Sabretooth had every intention to –” he tried to breathe normally. “Broo saved me.” Everything a blur, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, Sabretooth above him, _undressing_ him, and then that scream, the blood on his face, Broo biting Sabretooth's arm and not letting go, Sabretooth trying to yank him away without succeeding, Broo munching and biting and snarling and gulping down Sabretooth's flesh, Broo in front of him, snarling at Sabretooth. Snarling at anyone who got close to Quentin.

Sabretooth had been _pissed._ He had went into the mansion after that.

“I smelled Broo. I thought it was _after_ –”

“ _No_.” Quentin said forcefully. “I'm fine.”

“He _didn't_.” Daken exhaled.

“ _No_ , he didn't.” He squeezed Daken's hand again.

He could see the change in Daken's face when it happened. There was something in his eyes that Quentin couldn't quite place; they just flickered and then seemed to _shift_ and then they went blank, his features smooth. He rested his head on the pillow again, still looking at him.

“Your hips,” Daken said, voice flat.

Quentin touched the bandage self-consciously and pulled his shirt down to cover it. “It's just a few scratches. It's nothing.” He half-hugged himself, his free hand coming to rest on his upper arm.

Daken's gaze flickered to it. Quentin recalled it was bruised when Daken emitted a low growl and then caught himself.

“Are you fine?” Daken asked, voice flat again, after a few seconds. “Truly fine?”

 _Don't lie to him._ “Physically, yes.”

“You _flinch_ when you _breathe,_ ” Daken's nostrils were white. “He kicked you. I remember he _kicked_ you.”

That had happened when he had been _Hiro._ Quentin winced. “Yes, but apart from that, it's all right. I'm fine.” _He's worried about me. Is he really_ worried _about_ me? _For_ real?

_You conditioned him, Mr. Quire._

“Where is that bastard?”

“Uhm. Sabretooth?” Quentin coughed. “I _think_ S.H.I.E.L.D. took him.”

Daken wriggled his nose. “Quentin,” he turned his head, staring at the ceiling.

“Yes?”

“I'm not Hiro.”

“I... I know that.” Quentin bit his lip.

“My hand. I'd like it back.”

Quentin looked down at the bed. He was still gripping madly Daken's hand. He had grabbed it by reflex as he had seen Daken distressed, just like he had done countless times with Hiro. He let it go. “Sorry.” He walked backwards, hitting the bed where he had slept, and sat on it. Daken didn't say anything else; he kept staring at the ceiling. What could he say to him? What could one say to a person whose privacy one had shattered so completely? He had no rights. He had had no rights. He had seen things Daken couldn't possibly want to be seen, he knew things Daken couldn't possibly want to be known. Daken was surely angry right now. Everything Quentin had done, he had done to _help_ . But Hiro had told him _things_ . _Private_ things. _Horrifying_ things. After determining in that terrible way that Quentin was to be trusted, he had taken to _recount_ his dreams with clinical precision.

“Played like an amateur,” said Daken suddenly. He snorted and curled his lips in what seemed like a mix between a snarl and a grin. “That _bastard_. Oh, well played.”

Quentin was about to answer – was he referring to Sabretooth making him believe he had hurt Quentin? – when Daken turned again his head towards him. “Could you free me?” He raised a bit his arms, as much as the large cuffs allowed him.

 _He could try and hurt you, Mr Quire_ , Beast had said.

“Sure.” Quentin stood up and unblocked the cuffs with his telekinesis. He stayed where he was as Daken sat up in the bed.

Daken cocked his head to the side, looking up at him. His gaze was unreadable. “You seem awfully _confident_ I won't do anything, Quentin- _san_.”

The honorific was mocking; it wasn't at all pronounced as Hiro did.

 _He_ knows _._

 _Did you miss the memo? Dangerous criminal._ Dangerous _. Criminal._

 _You helped us, it seems_ absurd _for you to help us and then attack us._

 _You wouldn't harm me. You wouldn't. It's my_ fault _: I conditioned you._

 _He thinks I'm sure of myself because I know all those_ things _about him._

Why _did you help us?_

 _He_ knows _I conditioned Hiro._

 _He could be_ angry _._

 _I didn't_ know _what I was doing._

 _Ask his_ forgiveness _._

 _I was trying to_ help _you!_

 _No._ Don't, absolutely don't _try and read him._

Don't _bring Hiro up._

These thoughts went off in a millisecond. He crossed his arms. “I'm _confident_ in my powers.”

Daken's eyebrows cocked up and he bit the corner of his lower lip in a satisfied grin. “Good answer.”

 _Phew_. Had it been a test of some sort? Daken was humming and prodding his chest and stomach. “I suppose they had to be put back inside?”

“Ah – yes.” he felt a little nauseous. God, reaching the lab had been like walking into the set of a horror movie. Daken's torso completely open like that, the organs exposed, the bones bent in strange ways –

And Daken was so _aloof_. He was touching his cheeks, passing his fingers over his facial hair. “A day? Or was I shaved?”

Quentin cleared his throat. “Twenty hours.”

“And I wasn't _buried_ . Now, _this_ ,” Daken arched his eyebrows, “This I call an improvement.” He sat cross-legged and stretched his arms, his back, his neck. Quentin watched, fascinated. The muscles rippled beneath the hospital clothes.

Daken was looking at him. Quentin shook himself. _Don't you dare_ blush _, Quentin Quire!_ He sat back on his bed.

“You died –” he said. He was about to ask him why he had helped them, he needed to know if it had been simply to help _him_ as Evan had said, as Beast had theorized, but Daken interrupted him.

“I noticed. It worked, I gather?” Daken glanced around lazily.

Quentin's mind did a backflip. “ _What_ worked?”

“My _tragic death_.” Daken did air quotes. “Evan needed a little extra encouragement.”

 _What the flying fuck in hell?_ Quentin stared at him. Daken looked really _smug_.

“You _died,_ ” he exhaled. “You died in a horrible, agonizing way.”

“Again, I noticed.”

“Evan is _traumatised_ .” I _am traumatised and I didn't even see it_ happen _, you looked like hell, it seemed really, really,_ really _painful!_ Had he no concern at all for his body –

_Of course not. Why am I even asking that question?_

“Evan could have been less traumatised had he just done his work from the _beginning_ ,” Daken said, completely unapologetic. Bored, even. “A lot of unpleasant things would have been avoided.”

Unpleasant things like the way Daken had talked about his beating of Evan. It had been obvious to Quentin that Daken had purposefully been that cruel to make him react. He hadn't told him, though.

Unpleasant things like his impassioned speech. Evan had told him about it. _He just lost it and said these..._ terrible things _, Quentin, about the headmaster and that man and then Sabretooth arrived and he simply calmed down as if anything had happened_ at all! Evan had pushed quite a lot, if his summaries were anything to go by. Quentin had wanted to strangle Evan and his blissful naiveté, had wanted to strangle him for having the nerve of _recounting_ . How _dared_ he divulge private things like that? Well, Evan probably had thought that Quentin knew anyway. But Quentin had told him, very calmly, to shut the _fuck_ up about things that weren't his business.

“He just needed a push.” Daken continued, and shrugged, as if it were no big deal, “We were running out of time, and you –” he wriggled his nose, “– were almost perfectly safe and sound, it appears.” He proceeded to check his hair, frowning and tutting in distaste.

 _This is_ fucked up _. This is completely,_ thoroughly _fucked up_ . Here he was, chatting amiably with an unrepentant, vicious killer, a killer with a complete, utter, total lack of empathy who was apparently worrying about _him_.

Was it genuine?

Was he faking it?

If it was genuine, was it compelled by Hiro's attachment to him or was it real?

And here _he_ was, worrying about Daken. The man had made a dangerous gamble indeed, because he couldn't be sure that Evan would react as he hoped, but he had made himself killed nonetheless without a thought.

“You _sacrificed_ yourself,” he exhaled.

“Ah, please, don't be so _dramatic_.” Daken rolled his eyes. “It was hardly a sacrifice.” He set his hands on the bed and leaned a bit backwards, cocking an eyebrow. “Healing factor, remember?”

 _No_ . _Just..._ no _, damn it!_ Quentin got up. “Ok. Uh. Tell me if... if it pisses you off.” Daken's brows furrowed; Quentin bent down on him and hugged him tightly.

The man tensed. Quentin heard him distinctly stop breathing for a few seconds.

“What are you doing?” Daken asked a moment later.

“Hugging you.” Quentin shut his eyes. _I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so_ sorry.

“Yes.” Daken breathed a laughter. He could almost see him roll his eyes. “I noticed. _Why_ are you hugging me?”

“Because I felt like it.”

“Is this my so called thanks hug?” Daken said, amused. “Do you think I'm never been hugged, never ever ever ever? Do you think this will change me and make little hearts and wings and confetti spring out of thin air and I'll stop killing people thanks to the power of friendship?”

“Of course not. I'm not a woobifier. Jesus _Christ_ , just _shut up_ for a moment.”

Daken snorted. “All right.” He relaxed slightly.

He didn't return the embrace, of course. That would have been mildly disturbing and uncomfortable in all the wrong ways, because _hello, vicious assassin,_ sixty _years old, wet dream-slash-nightmare complete with guilt undertone_. Quentin asked himself what the hell would the teachers think about this. He was pretty sure some of them would be watching, just to be sure Daken wouldn't harm him. Beast had told him they would give him space, but that they would have to check on them.

He was just so _relieved_. Relieved that all had turned out for good, even if there was Broo's situation to handle still; relieved that he was safe, Sabretooth gone; that Hiro had gotten his wish granted, had went back into Daken's mind, the child he was many, many years before, as he had put it; that Daken was fine – sort of, he guessed – alive and well and snarky and aloof, not a worry in the world.

A mask put in place.

But now Quentin _knew_ him.

No. No; he wouldn't _assume_. He wouldn't do him this discourtesy.

Quentin extricated himself from Daken and straightened up. The man was looking up at him with a questioning gaze, an eyebrow cocked up.

Quentin sighed and shrugged. “I'm glad you're ok.”

The other eyebrow arched and Daken released a short, amused sound. “Sure you are.”

“I am.”

“Ah, please. Didn't you prefer _Hiro?_ Sweet and scared and _needy_. He relied on you.”

Quentin crossed his arms. “Hiro was damn _strong_ , and you know it. You're twisting the truth and you know it. I was helping him because –”

“– because you _wanted to help him_.” Daken quoted, eyebrows raised.

“Yes.”

“You didn't want _anything_.” Daken continued. He was repeating what Quentin had said that day.

“Well, you _know_ that.” He had stopped him. He had _stopped him_ . That had to count for something! As if he would have dared to do something like that to someone who he _knew_ had been raped! Whose rape he had witnessed, even! Even if he hadn't been a child, he would have never! The most horrifying thing about that day had been that Hiro hadn't even understood that what he was doing wasn't normal for his age. All because of those damn dreams, those dreams where he was of almost the same age. Those were the worst, Hiro had told him later. It was easy to dissociate from the ones where he was older, but those where he was small –

“You _don't want_ anything.”

Quentin felt the urge to roll his eyes. He understood perfectly well why Daken was saying these things, but he had no intention to fall for it. He would show him that he had no intention to _use_ the things he knew about his past, that he would _never_ bring them up with _anyone_ . Hell, he had told only the essential things to Beast and only because he had kept _insisting_. So he decided to be bold; he put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes and said: “Fucking hell, just accept it. Are you always this annoying?”

Daken threw his head backwards and _laughed_. He seemed delighted. “It's a form of art. An art you master quite well, I might add.”

“I try.”

“And you don't walk on eggshells, either.” Daken hummed. “Aren't you worried I'm playing with you?”

Quentin sat and crossed his arms. “I'll have you know there are sensors in here. You didn't even _try_ to use your pheromones, or else the teachers would have been here already.”

“It would be a sorry day indeed if I couldn't play someone _without_ my pheromones.”

“So you've been playing me since you woke up.”

“I could have been.”

“Telling me invalidates it,” he shot back.

“Telling you makes you think it has been invalidated, while giving me space to do it.” Daken crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow at him.

 _Oh, really_ – Quentin grinned. “Of course, it could be that you want me to think that you're telling me to make me feel sure you're not doing it while in fact you are, but that would mean that you are not.”

“Unless I want you to believe I'm saying it to make you believe I'm doing it while I'm not, and therefore I am.”

“Unless you want me to believe that you want me to believe that, and therefore you aren't.”

“If I want you to believe that, it's because I am.”

“Na-ah, I would not be so stupid to believe that. It doesn't traslate to that at all, it only means that you want me to believe that, it doesn't mean that you are. What you are doing and what you want me to believe that you're doing don't have to coincide, obviously. They're the opposite. The mere fact that you want me to believe you are means that you aren't.”

“You're assuming that I'd say the opposite of what I'm doing because I'm doing it. The obvious conclusion would be that I'm doing the opposite of that.”

“No, because you'd be focusing my attention to the other conclusion.”

“That is, you're assuming that you know how I think. If I knew that you follow this reasoning, I'd use the opposite to confuse you.”

“But you don't know that I follow that reasoning, so you are using the other reasoning.”

“But you are still assuming that you know my reasoning. That's because you assumed you already knew what I was doing and accomodated your reasoning to that, instead of the other way around.”

“But I knew that we weren't trying to determine whether you were doing it or not.”

“So you assumed twice, you assumed this was about something else and reasoned accordingly. You shouldn't assume, nothing good ever comes from it.”

“I'm aware, and I don't do it, but this is about something else.”

“You assumed that. You should have reasoned independently from that and tried to determine whether I was or not.”

“But you weren't.”

“That's an assumption. If I knew you were going to think that, I would use that.”

“But I knew you weren't doing it after your first utterance. You challenged me with your body language.”

“Are you sure you want to bring body language into this?” Daken asked. Speaking of which: his posture was really strange. It was completely relaxed, his back leaning on the head of the bed; but he had slowly, _really_ slowly, while they talked – they had been micromovements, really, and he had noticed only because he was watching him – positioned himself on the opposite corner of the bed; as far as he could be from Quentin without having to get up. And strangest still, his pupils – his pupils were so wide.

 _Don't bring attention to that. Ignore it._ “Well, I'm aware body language is an important part of deception. I know you're going to say that you challenged me with it to make me feel surer of myself. To which I would counter what I said earlier, because it falls under the same category. I'm well aware I won't ever know what's happening here, because you're too experienced to slip up just like that. You could keep me running in circles for hours.”

“Hours? You think you could keep up with this conversation for hours?”

“I think I would certainly try. So. I'm perfectly aware this is a game and I'm acting accordingly. For the sake of argument, let's keep it simple: that was just a challenge.”

“Ok. But you challenged first, because you crossed your arms when you brought the pheromones into it knowing fully well I wasn't using them, and you did so before my first utterance.”

“Your first utterance was before my challenge.”

“That which you refer to was a rhetorical question.”

“You knew that was rhetorical, maybe; I did not.”

“So you're confirming that you assumed since the beginning; you thought the rhetorical question was a serious claim on my part and still challenged. That is, you assumed I wasn't doing it.”

“But I know you aren't.”

“But you didn't know that. If you wanted to prove your reasoning, you failed quite spectacularly.”

“Your use of the past just now means that you aren't doing it.”

“It only means that I want you to believe I'm not.”

“Again? We've just said –”

“That your reasoning wasn't sound.”

“It still stands that you didn't know what approach I would have used!”

“That is true,” conceded Daken. He cocked is head to the side, his eyes focused on Quentin. He stared at him for a few moments.

Quentin shifted. “So?”

“So what?”

“So how is my reasoning?”

“Terrible,” grinned Daken. “A few fallacies. But interesting. You are interesting, Quentin Quire. Not easy to read. You've surprised me a few times already.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Oh, I find that quite refreshing.” Daken stood up from the bed – from the other side – and stretched. Damn, he _was_ trying to put physical distance between them!

 _Or_ he wanted him to believe he was trying to put distance.

Damn, he couldn't keep going like that, one could get crazy.

It was thrilling, though. The game.

“So. You aren't playing me,” Quentin shot.

“That's a question for the ages,” sighed Daken. He moved away from the beds. “I play long, long, _long_ games, you know. Comes from the age.”

“Long games?” Quentin turned towards Daken, watched him walk. “Does this mean that you want me to be your evil sidekick?”

“Depends.” Daken shrugged. “Do you want to be my evil sidekick?”

“Depends. Do you want to groom me to be your evil sidekick?”

Daken spun, his eyes very cold for a second. “No _grooming,_ ” he hissed. Quentin cursed inwardly. _Idiot, idiot, Quentin Quire you idiotic idiot!_ Daken recomposed right away, though, and shot him a grin. “But you would be an interesting sidekick. Imagine Logan's horror.”

“Oh, I'm shivering.” And, quite honestly, he was.

God, he was equally devious, wasn't he?

And the teachers were probably listening.

_Oops._

“Perhaps when you're older.” Daken hummed and reached the window. He opened it and looked outside. “Oh, good. Would've _hated_ to break my neck.” He put a hand on the window sill. “I'll keep an eye on you, Quentin Quire.”

 _He's going away_ . Quentin felt an ache in his heart. _No, no, no. Quick, find something else –_

“My assumption!”

Daken turned, an eyebrow raised.

“You said I assumed twice, but you named only an assumption. I didn't correct you, but you didn't ask what my assumption was. This means you knew what my assumption was. The reason why we were reasoning.”

Daken crossed his arms and leaned on the wall near the window. “Mh?”

“You wanted to distract me from the question I was trying to ask!”

“Ah. How could I know you were about to ask something? You had just established quite nicely you wouldn't bring up my _tragically tragic_ past.”

“ _Ah_ , nice try,” Quentin shot back. “No, the question I was about to ask before, when you used your death to distract me.”

“Oh, was I distracting you?” Daken's lips curled up.

“Sure you were.”

“Mh-mh.” Daken cocked an eyebrow.

“So?”

“I didn't hear a question.”

“Why?” Quentin said. He stood up. “Why did you help us?”

“Why do you think?”

There were a million different things he could say. Only one was the right answer, and Quentin knew it by now. He shrugged and got closer. “Not going to assume.”

“You seemed so fond of that.”

“Not on this.”

And at that Daken smiled, a really, really _tiny_ smile, not a smirk nor a grin. It could be one of the millions microexpressions Daken seemed to master so well. Quentin decided it was a genuine smile.

Daken leaned forward conspirationally and Quentin got closer.

“Quentin Quire,” whispered Daken. “Wouldn't you like to know.”

Quentin laughed. “Seems legit.” He proffered Daken his hand to shake.

Daken stared down at it for a second. He shook his head, the angle of a lip curled up. “You're doing it again.” He took his hand; his shake was firm and quick. “Say hi to the girl for me, will you?”

He climbed out of the window. Quentin bit his lip. _Has he smelled Hisako?_

_No. Don't make that mistake._

He leaned on the window as Daken walked away. “A lot of girls here!” He called. “Which one?”

Daken didn't turn. “Annoying.”

“Unassuming!”

Daken snorted and turned, walking backwards. “Hisako.” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Will do!” Quentin hesitated for a moment and waved.

Daken waved back – only once – and turned again.

And then he was gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: “Talk,” Daken repeated coolly. His eyes shut for a tiny bit too long. “Has it occurred to you that maybe I left to avoid talking?”
> 
> On Daken and Quentin:  
> Gosh, these two. I've tangled them _much more_ than initially planned. Their relationship evolved on its own as I wrote. It's disturbing and unhealthy and creepy as hell, but I love it. It's time to confess that I'm seriously thinking about a sequel set in the future. Feel free to tell me what do you think UwU
> 
>  **Preemptive Warning for the next chapter.** There will be angst. Tons and tons of angst. If you want this story to have an almost-nice, sort-of-normal, happy-ish, kind-of-hopeful ending, I suggest you stop reading right here and treat this chapter as the actual ending. ^-^ I'll love you anyway.
> 
> To the rest of you, see you next week with the last chapter and an awaited conversation and please don't kill me, ahahah * sweats nervously *


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** Talk of incest.

17.

“I'm the end of your telescope:

I don't change just to suit your vision,

'cause I am bound by a fraying rope

around my hands, tied around my hands.”

Emilie Autumn - _What if_

 

 

Logan was running.

He hadn't expected Daken to stay, but at the same time he had hoped he would at least stay long enough for them to talk. There was so much he needed to say, so much he needed to ask.

But Daken had gone out of the window like a thief in the night, Quire staring after him like a sighing maiden in love. And Daken hadn't even _done_ anything to Quire, hadn't used his pheromones at all. They had just talked.

Their conversation had been passing weird. Logan had happened to be already in the lab when Daken had woken up, so he had managed to see Daken's reaction at seeing Quire, had managed to see the progression of their conversation. Quire had seemed to be desperately trying to impress Daken, and maybe, just maybe, succeeding. And Daken...

It had been so _strange,_ so different from his own interactions with his son that he couldn't understand Daken's angle. It had been disturbing. Disquieting. Logan was so confused; he couldn't shake off the feeling that Daken was playing Quire and the same time holding back for some reason, that he was shaken and shocked and perhaps angered by his own reactions. He _had_ been worried about Quire, that couldn't be faked on such a short notice, would it? Daken was quick, but nobody was that quick. He recalled the events of the day before. The better part of it had probably been cold calculation; hell, the fight had been. But not _that_. Logan could pinpoint on the recording of the confrontation with Sabretooth the exact moment Daken had smelled Quire's blood. Logan had never seen such horror on a face, let alone Daken's.

And his reaction at seeing Quire was fine couldn't possibly have been fake. He had just woken up.

But he wasn't a good reader of his own son, was he? Not if Daken had managed to make him believe all the things he had said the day he had killed him.

The day he had _made_ Logan kill him.

Logan cursed and reached the lawn. He saw his son walk towards the gates.

“Daken!” Logan shouted. He kept running. “Daken!”

His son didn't stop.

“Wait!” He shouted. “Wait!”

His son, walking away from him, too many things left unsaid, too many said. He couldn't let him go, he couldn't.

“ _Wait!_ ”

The ground shook and a portion of the lawn raised to block Daken passage. He heard him snarl; he had almost reached him, he didn't stop to reprimand Krakoa. In truth, he was grateful.

Daken spun on his heels when Logan was a few feet from him. “What's this? An ambush?” He snarled.

Logan came to a halt and winced. “I didn't – Krakoa, please, stand down.”

The ground levelled again. Daken turned and resumed walking.

“Wait!” Logan shouted, standing where he was.

Daken stopped; he lowered his head for a moment, raised it again. He seemed to come to a kind of resolution. He turned. “Why?”

Logan looked at him. Here they were. The moment of truth. The first time they talked after that damnedest day. And he couldn't think of a thing to say, so was he haunted by the things he now knew.

“Wouldn't you stay?” Logan exhaled eventually.

Daken let out a short amused sound. “In this circus? Here you are, come to take your prize. I should be so grateful you helped me, I should stay. Right?”

There he went again. “No. Don't twist my words.”

“There's nothing to twist, you've been very clear already. I have all of Hiro's memories, you know.”

“Then you know I've done everything I could.”

“Ah, no.” Daken shook his head. “No. I know perfectly well Psylocke could have put an end to it in the blink of an eye.”

“We weren't _sure_.” Logan said forcefully.

“Keep telling yourself that. Keep lying to yourself. You're very good at that.” Daken shook his head and made as if to turn.

“For God's sake, wait!” Logan took a step towards his son. “Wait just for a few –”

“Days?” Daken snarled, “Weeks? Months? Years? You want to teach me to be a _good boy_ , _daddy?_ ” There was a sickening twist in those words, a terrible edge. Logan winced at the thought insinuating in his head, sent it derailling.

“No,” he managed to say, “Just a few moments. Wait to see the kids at least, they'll want to –”

“You are delusional, Logan. Your students fear me, and it's a good thing they do. I'm not Hiro and they know it perfectly well. It was just a dream and you need to wake up.”

“They'll want to thank you. You –”

“I didn't do it for them, Logan.”

“Why then?” Logan asked softly.

Daken shook his head. “Has there to be a reason? What do you want to hear?”

“The truth.”

“The _truth_. Such a fleeting thing.” Daken grimaced. “I did it because I wanted to.”

Logan sighed. “That's not an answer.”

“That's the only answer you'll get, Logan. Are we done here?”

“No. Look... can't you come inside and – you need clothes!” Logan motioned to Daken's hospital clothes.

Daken looked down at himself. “Why? This color suits me so well. Or maybe you're worried I'll kill someone for their clothes on my way out of here? A corpse in front of the school wouldn't do much good, would it?”

Logan shook his head, frustrated. “Look –”

“We both know you don't care how I'm dressed, Logan,” Daken interrupted him. “Why don't you tell me what do you really want?” He crossed his arms.

Logan took a breath. “We need to talk.”

“Talk,” Daken repeated coolly. His eyes shut for a tiny bit too long. “Has it occurred to you that maybe I left to avoid talking?”

Of course it had.

 _Logan, no!_ Hank had shouted as Logan had run out of the lab. _Don't do it. Let him go!_

But he couldn't allow it. He couldn't. There was just so _much_ – “Yes.”

Daken motioned towards him with both his hands. “And yet here you are, forcing yourself upon me. I care _not_ for your needs.”

“It ain't just _my_ need, son.”

“I don't need to talk to you. In fact, I need to be _gone_.”

“No, I can't let you do that. The things you said –”

“I was _lying_ ,” Daken snapped. “Yes, I was lying. Playing with you. I wanted to traumatise Evan. Haven't you learned that I can make you believe what I want? _All lies_. Why, did you believe them?”

“You weren't lying.” Logan almost took a step towards Daken, but held himself. Daken wasn't going away, he was staying and talking and he was being moderately civil. “That was the most honest you've ever been. Perhaps, even with yourself.”

Daken laughed, but there wasn't amusement in his voice, it was cold and hollow. “Oh, but I _love_ this. There you go again, thinking you've got me figured out.”

“No.” Logan shook his head. “No, I'll never be able to figure you out. I know that.”

That actually seemed to shut Daken up for a moment. His eyes flickered with surprise. Logan decided not to lose the advantage.

“And that's why we need to talk. How can I know what do I do wrong if you don't tell me? Damn it, you're not angry that I try to read you, you're angry that I try and fail miserably. Help me. Help me –”

“ _Help me help you?_ Were you going to say that?” Daken's eyes were cold again.

“Help me _understand_ , Daken! Please!”

“There is nothing to understand, Logan. Nothing.” Daken looked away, gazed at the woods.

Logan took a breath. He dreaded this, but he had to. “Ro –”

“ _NO!_ ” Daken shouted, pale-faced. He even took a couple of steps backwards. “You won't talk about Romulus, Logan. I won't talk about Romulus with you. We won't talk about Romulus. Do you understand?” God, but seeing him so on the defensive was terrible.

“Son –”

“ _Do you understand?_ ”

“Lis –”

“That topic _doesn't exist_. Do you hear me? He's dead. You killed him. Congratulations. What a good job you've done.”

“Son –”

“ _Doesn't. Exist_.” Daken snarled.

“ _Had I known_ ,” Logan raised his voice, “Had I known, I would've let you –”

Daken gasped and clasped his hands on his chest, childish delight on his face. “A _gift?_ For _me_ , _otousan?_ But it isn't my birthday yet!” That was terribly cruel and unfair and he _knew_ it.

“I _would_ have,” chocked out Logan. “Had I known –”

“What?” Daken snarled, “Had you known _what?_ What did you think had happened over the course of fifty years? Do you know how _long_ fifty years are? How many lies did you tell yourself? What did you think it meant when you said so _confidently_ that I loved him?” Daken was so pale as he talked, his face a careful mask, but his voice was straining at the edges as a broken gear. “ _Had you known?_ Are you _serious?_ What should I have done? _Told you?_ Would you have wanted me to tell you? _Would you want me_ to tell you? I could be very specific. Do you want me to be specific? Nothing would please me more than giving fuel to your jerking fantasies,” he hissed.

Logan felt the blood drain from his face at the implication.

“I was this close,” Daken said, holding his finger and thumb firmly together. “ _This_ close, Logan, to make him _pay._ And your little friend came in and _abducted_ him.”

Logan winced. “I'm sorry –”

“I care not for your pity, Logan. I _reject_ your pity. I _won't_ stand here and hear you _use_ this to fuel _your_ pain. This is _not_ about you.”

“I _know_ it's not about me...”

“Why do you insist then? What do you _want?_ ”

“You –” Logan gritted hard his teeth. “Hell, son, you made me _kill_ you. You _tortured_ a _kid_ to _make me_ kill you.”

“ _Ah_.” Daken exhaled. He looked away for a fraction of second. “Yes. And?”

“Why?” Logan breathed.

“Why? Because I wanted to. Because it was _fun_.”

“No.” Logan shook his head. “No, you said that you _wanted to die_.”

Daken turned his head to look at Jeannie's statue, his jaw clenched. He crossed his arms.

“You said all those _things,_ that day. And they were all lies. You lied. You... used your pheromones, didn't you? During the fight. You made me believe you were losing. You induced my berserker state. And you were so slow. _Too_ slow.” How could he have believed Daken, an accomplished fighter, could lose a fight like that?

“Yes,” said Daken, still not looking at him. “I knew exactly what to say to make you believe there was no way out. And you're so perceptive to my pheromones. It was so very easy.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Just an experiment.” Daken closed his eyes and exhaled quietly, exhaustion on his face. “It failed miserably.”

“An _experiment?_ ”

“Oh, _Logan_.” Daken shook his head and turned slightly. “All my life – all my life, I've been led by a childish need to _please_ my father. An idiotic cry for attention. A weakness. This has permitted Romulus to do as he pleased with me; this has led me to always stir towards you, in a way. I've been molded oh so well. But there was a moment. There was a moment, right _there_ ,” Daken held up a hand, lost in a vision Logan couldn't see, “when it all shattered to pieces. And I thought that recreating it would free me.” Daken looked at him. “Such a stupid idea. I flinch at my own _idiocy_. Hiro was right; I'll never be free from what he has _done_.”

A moment when it all shattered to pieces. Recreating it –

“When your father failed you,” breathed Logan. It hurt him to use that word, but he understood now that that man had been more of a father to Daken than what he had ever been. _My first father loved me_ , Daken had said. _He should have killed me_ , Hiro had said. “When Akihira almost killed you and killed himself instead, leaving you. You had _wanted_ him to kill you.”

Daken cocked his head to the side. “So quick you are,” he said quietly.

That was convoluted and terrible. Daken must have been desperate to concoct a plan so strange. He could see the reasoning, he could even see how that could have worked.

“You thought that my killing you would have been – cathartic, somehow.”

Daken laughed bitterly. “Ridicoulous, isn't it? So sure of myself. Instead I was in for a trip down memory lane with the full force of a thousand nightmares. Oh, how _delightful_ . And you even managed to _profit_ from it, you've finally been able to lay me bare. You got what you wanted and I got nothing. And all I'd wanted was to stop being haunted by your damn _face_.” He laughed again, raw and bitter. He shook his head. “Are we done here? Are you satisfied?” He didn't wait for Logan to answer, but resumed walking towards the gates.

Logan couldn't let him go like that. “That's not what I wanted.”

Daken made a short amused sound, but didn't turn; he kept walking.

“Hell, son, that's never _been_ what I wanted.” Logan went after him. “I didn't want you to be forced to say all you secrets, your private things to the world,” he said as he walked. “I just wanted to have a chance with you!”

He heard Daken sigh. “We'll _never_ have a chance, Logan. You need to learn to live with it.”

“I think we have a chance.”

“No, you think I should change for you, you think I should give up and have nothing.”

“You'd have my love.”

“Your love would be toxic.” Daken's voice was flat. He kept walking. “I won't change just because daddy doesn't want me to kill people. I like to kill people. I like to use and control and that will never change, Logan. Don't you dare making this about my upbringing and by default what _you_ could have done. This is about _me_ and _my choices_.”

But his choices were _wrong!_ How could he make him understand that he just wanted what was best for him? If they could just sit down and talk they would resolve this! “Hell, just _look at me!_ ” Logan reached Daken and grabbed his upper arm, forcing him to turn and face him. Daken struggled somewhat fiercely, but Logan managed to hold him close. He wasn't going to let him go, he _wasn't._

Something flickered in Daken's eyes for a second, something too quick, too strange, too _impossible_ , something that didn't _compute_ , as Daken's face set in a mask and he suddenly went still, his gaze on Logan's face. “Unhand me.”

“No, listen –”

“Unhand me.”

“Listen –”

“Unhand me now. You will regret this.” Daken's voice was flat, his eyes empty.

Logan didn't let go. He tightened his grip, kept his son close. He stared up at him. “I won't succumb to threats, Daken. You want to stab me? Do it, but _listen_ to me –”

“ _Unhand_ me,” Daken exhaled, and he was... _begging?_ Logan furrowed his brows. A shin of sweat was forming on Daken's forehead, his heart was hammering.

“Son –”

“Unhand me _now_. _Unhand_ –” Daken suddenly reached out and grabbed weakly Logan's shirt. Logan stared at his son's face, pale and shivering, his eyes glistening with a feverish gleam.

“What –”

“ _Damn you_ ,” Daken exhaled, “Damn you to _hell_.” He fisted Logan's shirt, he lowered his head to look at him, seemed to be trying to school his breath. “So it _has_ come to this.” His pupils were fully blown. “Haven't I given you enough already? Are you so greedy you want it all? Do you want to unveil the final layer? Do you want me _bare?_ ” Daken laughed quietly, but there wasn't amusement in his voice, only dry resignation. He waited, bottomless pits fixed on Logan's face. He waited, motionless.

Dread pooled at the bottom of Logan's stomach. He recalled a scream.

 _Don't touch me! Do not touch me, do not_ touch _me, do not touch me, do not, do_ not...

“How many lies did you tell yourself?” Daken exhaled, a tremor in his voice. “Did you tell yourself it wasn't possible? Did you tell yourself you were nothing like him? Did you tell yourself your hair's so different, did you tell yourself you're so much shorter, did you tell yourself you sure weigh less, did you tell yourself, did you tell yourself,” he was almost chanting. Logan felt a surge of bile coming up. _No_. _No. No_. Daken was shaking slightly. Logan loosened his grip on him.

“Son, you're trembling –”

Daken nodded, gaze fixed on him. “Aye, that I am. That I surely am. Must give up something, you see.” His face was covered in sweat now, all his body was covered in sweat, but Logan couldn't smell anything. He was holding his pheromones in check, hiding his own scent. Controlling himself. He had so much more self-control than a child.

Hiro stepping out of the plane, seeing Logan for the first time. Screaming.

_No, no! No! Please! I'll be good. I promise I'll be good! No, no!_

Hank –

 _He had been having those dreams since the beginning. Hiro... told him the dreams were always_ different.

“Daken –”

“Tell me,” Daken breathed. “I wonder. I do. I really do. Are you blind?”

Logan shook his head, horror dawning on him. Something stirred at the back of his mind, something screamed, _no, no,_ _no_ – he took a step backwards but he was still gripping his son's arm and Daken followed blindly the movement, as if he couldn't help it.

Hiro shuddering and backing away, the first day, when Logan had reached across the table, trying to meet his eyes.

“Because only a blind man wouldn't see it,” murmured Daken, “Only a blind man wouldn't see it. Don't you see the resemblance when you look in the mirror? Can I... can I touch it, please?” There was a softness to his features, almost a tenderness. “Oh, please, I'll be good, I promise. Can I touch that face?” He let go of Logan's shirt and his hand went up hesitantly to cup Logan's face, as if expecting to be stopped. He held it lovingly. “Just a dog, in the end,” he said softly, “I only need a bell.” He passed his fingers over Logan's cheek with utmost care, as if he feared to touch him.

“Ah –” Logan emitted a broken wail. _No. No. No._

“Perhaps you're stupid,” murmured Daken, “You didn't quite realize. Why would a child scream in terror when he sees someone's face? Why would someone not want to be touched, why indeed?”

“No. No. _No_.” Logan shook his head, his voice broken, a void in his chest, it was hurting so much –

“Ah, denial.” Daken breathed quietly. “I've been there. Yes, that might be it. You're a child. A child, shying away from the truth, desperately trying to _unsee_ it, to pretend everything's all right. Not even _this_ can I be freed from, not even _this._ ”

Shaking, Daken rested his forehead on Logan's. He kept brushing lovingly Logan's cheek, his eyes fixed on Logan's. He was breathing so quietly, his lips slightly parted, and his heart was hammering, and his pupils were fully dilated. He was waiting.

God, he was _waiting_.

Logan couldn't breathe, couldn't move, his heart beating loudly, adrift with shock and horror and dread. He wasn't playing him. He wasn't pretending, he wasn't having fun, he wasn't playing some sick, cruel game, this wasn't for shits and giggles, this was _real_ and he had brought this up, he hadn't let go when Daken had _begged_ him. He let go of his arm, trying to fix this, but Daken only emitted the sigh of a drowning man who's letting go.

“Don't you want to know,” he exhaled, “what could you do to me... right here... right now... if only you wanted to?”

“Have mercy. God, have _mercy_ –” _Forgive me, oh forgive me, what has he done to you, what has he done to you –_

 _There are no_ words _for what he did to me._

“You could have me,” Daken put his thumb over Logan's lips, “You could bend me and I'd let you. I would undress and lie down for you, spread open and ready for you, the prettiest wretched whore you've ever seen. You just have to tell me to do it.” He pushed gently his forehead on Logan's, their noses brushing; his breath brushed Logan's lips and for a terrifying moment Logan thought that Daken was going to kiss him. “I would relinquish all control to you, blindly and completely. Yours, yours, yours. I would be a bundle of broken nerves for you to twist and torture and play with. I would only cry for _more_. I would crave it. I would beg. You could do things to me, _things_... oh, _oh_ , you don't even imagine the things I would let you do –”

Horrified, Logan took a step backwards. Daken's arm fell, his fingerstips brushing gently Logan's chest; he exhaled and stayed there, swaying slightly towards Logan like a well-trained dog waiting to be called, gaze fixed on him, transfixed.

He had to do something. God, what could he do? Call someone? Thank God there were classes still, there wasn't anyone on the lawn.

Rachel should be in the woods with Broo. Maybe he should call her and –

No, Daken wouldn't want to be seen like that.

Run away? Perhaps the loss of visual stimuli would be enough to make him snap out of it –

No, he couldn't just run away like that, hadn't he done that enough times already?

_God. God._

“No,” breathed Daken. “No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't be like him. You'd be gentle, wouldn't you? Gentle, oh, so gentle. So very kind. You'd make love to me. Sweet, sweet love. You'd be kind and loving and tender and I would hate you for that, and I would love you for that, the only love you'd have from me, the only love I'd give you. Tell me what to do. Tell me.” It shouldn't be possible, but his pupils were getting even wider. “Tell me. Tell me. Touch me.” There was a terrible longing in his voice. “Touch me. Please, please, please, oh, _oh, please_ , touch me. Touch me, touch me, touch me touch me touch me touch me touch me –” his breathing was labored, his hand was shaking. He _yearned_ and he was straining, straining, and Logan guessed what he had to do, but he knew Daken would hate him for it.

But Daken would hate him whatever the outcome of this would be. Logan had _brought_ this upon himself, with his blindness, his damn blindness.

So he braced himself and held back the tears and: “ _Stop,_ ” he said firmly.

Daken _yelped_ and whipped his head down, almost took a step backwards, stayed still. “ _Sorry!_ ” And now Logan could smell arousal and terror mingled together, the air so thick with pheromones it hurt to breathe, coming in waves, utterly out of control, and the sheer need to _obey_ pushing, pushing, pushing. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm –”

 _Keep it together. Keep it together._ What good was the meditation if he couldn't be able to resist now? The pheromones were twirling so wildly they coulnd't provoke anything but a migraine. “I said _stop!_ ” He barked.

Daken's breath hitched. His heart stopped beating for the longest moment and then resumed hammering wildly.

 _God. Oh God, forgive me,_ forgive _me._

“You _will_ do as I say.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Daken said eagerly, head coming up, pupils blown, “Yes, yes, I'm sorry, yes, should I fall on my knees and –”

“ _No!_ ” Logan cut him short. Daken yelped again, his breath coming in quick uneven gasps, bordering on hysteria. Logan recalled Hiro's horror the first day. _I should trust you, you say? Why? You take me and hold me and say you want to help me. Should I fall on my knees and thank you, father?_ In his eyes there had been something. Disgust, fear, both?

_Should I fall on my knees and –_

_Hiro told him the dreams were always different._

_Don't you see the resemblance when you look in the mirror?_

“No, you _won't_ ,” Logan said firmly. He was about to throw up, throw up and die, this would _kill them_ , this would kill whatever chance there ever had been. Why hadn't he let Daken go, why hadn't he contented himself with the fragile truce, why had he been so damn _stubborn?_ “You _will_ calm down. Can you calm down for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes I can, I can, of course I can, I'm good, I'm very good –”

“Get a grip on yourself.”

Daken was nodding, nodding, nodding.

“I _said_ get a _grip_ on yourself, _boy!_ ”

And Daken went still. He went perfectly still, his breath slowing, his trembling stopping, his heartbeat slowing, his pupils going to a normal size again.

First: horror. He pushed Logan away, stumbled backwards, put distance between them, eyes wide.

Then: he shut his eyes, his face contorting in an ugly expression of pure rage. The maelstrom of pheromones that was saturating the air seemed to dissipate and Logan could breathe again.

When Daken opened his eyes again, sheer hatred blazed in them.

Logan stood perfectly still, not daring saying anything. _Defer to him. Let him reassume control. He will insult me. He will say cruel things. He will attack me, he will try to kill me. Let him. Let him._

 _Oh God. Oh,_ God _, God._

“Look at me,” Daken said after a moment, lips curled up to show his teeth in a snarl, “Going all _nostalgic_ on you.”

Logan didn't answer, bracing himself for the worst. He had it coming. This time, he had it _coming._

“I'm sorry, did I make you uncomfortable? Do you know who was very uncomfortable? _Hiro_ ,” Daken spat. “Oh, that kid was a rock. A _rock_. Didn't remember I was so strong-willed as a child. Such great lenghts he went not to tell you. A true hero. He was protecting me. Sweet kid. The cat is out of the bag now, so I suppose I could _tell_ you how you scared him to death. Sweet Hiro. Poor Hiro. Poor _child_. So _young._ Only _ten_ years old and he had that terrible _hunger_ everytime you went _near_ him,” he said very slowly, in his eyes a vicious willingness to hurt him, to make him pay. Oh, he was succeeding. It was the deliberate cruelty only a child could use, or perhaps someone hurt so much that only inflict an equal amount of pain could relieve their own. “Oh, _oops_. Did I say that out loud? Sorry. You scared him with your _face_. He had these horrible _flashes_ , you see. He thought you were _him_ , then thought you had done _things_ to him. Had the need to _scream_ and _vomit_ when you touched him, and, well, do other things too. Poor child. He almost dropped _dead_ on the lawn that time you hugged him. And the days passed and he was stuck here with you and the dreams got worse and worse and _worse_ and the flashes, _oh_ , the _flashes._ He would have gone _crazy_ if there hadn't been –” He inhaled. “And now this. This, Logan, happened because you can't get what's given to you, because you want more, because you shut your eyes tightly and pretend not to see what is in front of your face. I _told_ you I needed to be gone. I was going to let this go, not bringing it up again, I was so damn grateful you're so blind, so damn blind, so delusional that even _knowing_ , you were _still_ keeping your eyes blissfully shut. Oh, but deep down, _deep down_ you knew. You've _always_ known. You kept lying and lying to yourself, but you've always _known_. Why else would you have smashed his head, rendering it unrecognizable? You've always known your damn face looks like thrice-damned _Romulus'!_ ” Daken's voice broke on the name, the syllables edged as if he was chocking on shattered glass.

Logan realized he was crying, unable to cope with his son's words. Had he known? Had he always known?

It had always been at the back of his mind. But only now, faced with the consequences of his blindness, could he see.

“Ah, no, don't you _dare_ cry!” Daken spat. “Unbelievable! _I'm_ the one who was groomed like a fucking dog to be fucked by you, _used_ by you, a _gift_ for you, from a master to another, I was never supposed to be anything else than your _lapdog,_ in the truest sense of the word, I wasn't anything, _anything_ to him, a bitch in heat, and all I wanted – I said _stop crying_ , you don't _get_ to cry, you blind bastard!”

Daken reached him and shoved him on the shoulder with his hand, a violent hit. “Don't you _dare_ touch me again.” He kept shoving him till Logan's back hit the base of Jeannie's statue. “Don't you ever –” he shoved him again. “– touch me again.” He shoved him again. “Don't you _dare_ ever _again!_ ” He shoved him again. “Here, since you asked: this way you're _sure_ of what you're doing _wrong_ . And if you touch me, you _bastard_ ,” he shoved him again, “and I tell you to back the fuck away,” he shoved him again, “you _back the fuck away the moment I say it!_ ” he punctuated every word with a shove. “You back. The fuck. Away. Do you understand?” He shoved him again. “ _Do you understand, damn you?_ ”

Logan nodded, a lump in his throat.

Daken kept his hand on Logan's shoulder. “You. _You_ . _Damn_ you.” He said through gritted teeth. His head fell, he breathed loudly for a few moments. He inhaled and raised his head again. “ _Thank_ you,” he said quietly.

Logan started and dared look at his son's face. He seemed deadly serious.

“Thank you. Thank you for taking the kid in. He would have been used or worse.”

Logan widened his eyes.

“Thank you for burying me. It was so sweet of you. Such a nice tomb. Comfy. A bit humid.”

Logan opened his mouth, protests and apologies ready on his tongue.

“Oh, _hush_.” Daken rolled his eyes. “Remember what Hiro told you? Stop wallowing in self-hatred? You thought I was dead. You buried me. End of the story.”

“I –”

“I'm perfectly capable of taking the blame for my own _idiotic_ miscalculations, Logan.”

“I shouldn't have –”

“My _own_ miscalculations,” Daken repeated.

Logan nodded, wide-eyed.

“And.” Daken wriggled his nose. “Thank you. For stopping me. It was technically _your_ fault, but well. Thank you.” He squeezed his shoulder.

Logan stood speechless, not knowing what to say.

Daken smiled. “Good. I feel so much better. Now, there's just another thing,” he said pleasantly, and then his wrist claw slashed through Logan's shoulder, through flesh and bone.

Logan cried in pain, his knees gaving way under him. Daken kept him pressed to the base of the statue.

“Here's what we'll do,” said Daken, still very pleasantly. “I'll go away. Haven't decided where, yet. Someplace nice and far, far away. I'll be gone for a long, long, _long_ time. Don't try to find me. You, on the other hand.” He sighed. “You'll stay here, with your kids, doing heroic things, and so on and so forth.” He twisted a bit his claw. Logan cried. “This conversation never happened. If you feel an _itch_ , if you feel the sudden _need_ to talk about it, then well, whatever; but there's a _specific_ part of this conversation that never happened. I'm _sure_ you know what part I'm referring to. Don't you?”

Logan nodded, wide-eyed, shocked by both kinds of pain.

Daken nodded amiably. “Nice. You won't talk about it with _anyone_ .” He twisted his claw again, widened the hole. It sent jolts of pain through his arm. “Not with your teammates. Not with your bitches. Not with your buddies. Not with your drinking buddies. Not with your shrink, if you have one. Not with your dogs, cats, whatever. No monologues in the wild nor on deathbed. Not with the trees, not with the statues, not with the air, don't write it in your journal if you keep one. Not with me, if ever we see each other again. No one. _No. One_. Are we clear?”

Logan nodded.

“This isn't some _sorry story_ you can tell because you feel the need to affirm how _sad_ you are. _This isn't about you_. It's my own damn fucking business, Logan. I hope you get what I'm saying. My business. Not yours. Mine. Not yours. Not to be discussed on a crying fit. Not to be discussed at _all_. Mine. Mine. _Mine_. Are we clear?”

Again, Logan nodded.

“If I discover you've _talked_ about this, Logan, you're going to regret I –”

“ _Logan!_ ”, came an alarmed shout across the lawn. It seemed Rachel's voice.

“ _Ah_ , the cavalry.” Daken twisted his claw. “Are we clear? I'll hear you say it.”

“Yes,” breathed Logan, “Yes, I won't talk about it.”

“About _what?_ ” Daken twisted his claw again very slowly, grating on the bone.

Logan tried not to cry. “Nothing. About nothing.”

“Because –?”

“Because nothing happened.”

“See how quick you are?” Daken twisted viciously his claw out of him and took a couple of steps backwards, turning towards the direction of the voice, retreating his claw. Logan fell on his knees, shocked. He pressed a hand over his shoulder to stop the flow of blood.

“It's all right, Rachel!”

He saw her. She was coming towards them with a shocked face, Broo in tow.

The kid was apparently fine. Gone was the red, manic light he had had in his eyes when they had seen him the day before, when he had sprung towards the woods after making sure Quire was taken care of. His clothing was shredded, stained with Creed's blood.

Rachel reached them. Broo stayed a bit behind, wriggling his hands, eyeing the three of them.

“It's not all right _at all_ , Logan! You!” Rachel spun towards Daken, who was looking at her with a cocked eyebrow. “You ungrateful son of a –”

“I wouldn't _insult_ my mother if I were you, Rachel- _san_ ,” Daken spat the honorific, “Oh, unless you're referring to Natsumi, of course.”

Rachel winced, surprised for a moment.

“You can call me bastard if you want, I do have an _overload_ of fathers,” offered Daken, checking his fingernails. “Oh _my_ , I need a manicure.”

Rachel furrowed her brows. “After everything Logan _did_ for you –”

“ _Aye_ , I'm such an ungrateful bastard.”

“It's all right –” tried to say Logan.

“Oh, no, no, _let_ her, I _like_ people who assume.”

“It's not all right! He _hurt_ you, Logan!” She pointed at the blood still coming out of the wound.

“Can't a kid have a chat with his dad?” Daken sighed.

Rachel emitted an exasperated sound. “A _chat?_ ”

“Oh, it got a little heated.” Daken smirked.

“Get out of here –”

“ _Gladly_.”

“Rachel, I swear, it's all right, we were just –”

“Shut the _fuck up_ , Logan,” said Daken sweetly.

“ _Hey!_ ”, came a shout from above. Daken tensed. They all glanced up, at Johnny Storm flying slowly towards them. Hank had told him Daken was awake during his conversation with Quire. When Storm dismissed the flames, he had a shocked expression on his face. “I saw everything.”

Daken's smile was slow and poisonous, the threat of violence clearly visible in the way his lips curved, his teeth showed. He would take Storm's life, if necessary. Logan felt the blood drain from his face, he couldn't stop him in time –

“Johnny, _darling_ , what did you see _exactly?_ ”

“I saw you slide your _claw_ out of _him!_ ” Storm seemed devastated. “I thought you were changed!”

“ _Changed?_ ” Daken laughed. God, Storm would never know how close he had been to have Daken's claws in his chest. “Oh, Johnny. Johnny, Johnny. Why _should_ I?”

Storm opened his mouth. Blushed. Closed his mouth again.

“Ohhh! For _you_ , Johnny? You're one of _those_ , aren't you? You don't care at all. Not a prince, not a friend, just a child, just one more selfish lover.”

“I –”

“Oh, no, _look_. It's been fun, but this is getting ridicolous. I _played_ you,” Daken said very slowly.

Storm went beet red. “I thought –”

“What? That I'd _change for you?_ I fucked you for Reed's shiny toys. Sorry, not sorry.”

“You bastard –”

“Aye, aye, we've gone over this already.” Daken waved his hands dismissively.

“You're a bastard! A selfish bastard!” Storm was red-faced with anger.

“Oh, don't pretend you didn't _like_ it.”

Storm was gaping, not a word coming out of his mouth. Rachel was staring wide-eyed, and Logan... Logan thought this was _way_ over the top, even for Daken. More than that, it was self-damaging.

 _He's_ cutting ties _. He said he's going away, he's cutting ties._

Why else would he _thank him_ , of all things, before attacking him?

Why else would he renounce to an useful resource like Storm? The boy seemed to be head over heels for him.

 _Going away_ . Away from _him_ , most likely, he thought bitterly. He only hoped this would bring Daken solace. He hadn't been able to do anything for him, he had even managed to worsen their relationship and he saw it now, with clarity; he had to wait Daken's next move now, and if they never saw each other again, that would have to do. He owed him that much.

But there was something, a hope. He hadn't tried to kill him. God knew he would have reasons to do so. Perhaps –

Broo had watched their exchange with growing concern and unease; at the break in the conversation, he exhaled, “I, uh, I'll be on my way, professor, headmaster –”

“Broo!” Daken clasped his hands, delighted, as if he had seen him just now. He crouched in front of him. Logan, Rachel and Storm tensed, but Daken only patted the boy on his head. “The hero of the day. Forget Evan, I heard _you_ –” he pointed a finger at him with what looked like a real, fond smile, “– were _amazing_.”

“Oh no, I wasn't –” Broo winced, wriggling his hands.

“But of course you were! You saved Quentin. Amazing. I've never met someone who could _bite_ Victor and survive. That's an accomplishment!”

“But I'm a m – mon –”

“Nonsense! That, kid, was utterly _glorious_.” Daken patted Broo's head again. He went to his feet and turned towards them.

“Daddy. _Ladies_.” Daken winked at Storm. Storm seemed about to _cry_. “It's been fun. I'll take my leave now.”

He took a bow like an actor at the end of a play, spreading widely his arms.

“ _O, why should wrath be mute, and fury dumb?_ ” Daken declaimed as he walked towards the gates, “ _I am no baby, I, that with base prayers I should repent the evils I have done: ten thousand worse than ever yet I did would I perform, if I might have my will; if one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul_.”

And then –

– he was gone.

 

 

“You don't know me: never will, never will.

I'm outside your picture frame and the glass is breaking now.

You can't see me: never will, never will,

if you're never gonna see.”

Emilie Autumn – _What if_

 

_Fin._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final monologue comes from Shakespeare's _Titus Andronicus_ : Act V, Scene III, 2729-2735.
> 
> And so it ends.  
> I would like to thank every single one of you. Who read, who left a kudo, who left such lovely comments: I wouldn't have ever finished this story without you.  
> This chapter honestly took an emotional toll to write. Till the end I wasn't sure I should write what I had hinted at throughout the course of the story. Let's say a certain scene was exhausting to write and leave it at that ^^” I hope nothing felt rushed and you enjoyed this journey into Daken's life through different perspectives.  
> The man himself, alas, is a mystery yet to unveil.


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